You know the one. the one where the fly ends up in your coffee before you even get a sip. The one where your three year old shoves a cup of yogurt in your face demanding you help her "with the end" (meaning scrape the bottom of the cup and feed her) but today it's a half full cup of yogurt which she promptly drops on the floor you JUST steam mopped yesterday....the one where the allergy headache started before you even woke up and you feel like there's been an invasion of tiny gnomes with tiny hammers beating on your head and face....yeah those days.
It's been a challenging couple of weeks....the the rising temps don't really help a lot. Note - I am not complaining about summer. I like summer. I'd rather deal with the sweltering heat than the snow any day of the week. I'm talking about that "I'm just sitting here in front of a fan and I'm still soaked with sweat" type of day...those are the ones when my toddler screams help like the mutant spiders have invaded with such an edge to her voice that I immediately sprint to the other side of our apartment expecting the worst and instead....
....
....wait for it...
....
discover she can't get a sticker off a page....
spilled a single drop of smoothie on her shirt....
"can't reach" the cup sitting next to her hand.
....yeah those days.
Those are the days when it is so hard to not just sit down and cry and eat my weight in ice cream.
Those are the ones where I tell my darling daughter "Bean if you would just..." and dispense wisdom about how if she'd look up she'd see her cup, or if she'd tell me with actual words what her problem is I could help, or if she'd watch where she's walking instead of insisting on walking backwards everywhere she might not run into things....
and that's when I wonder if to God sometimes I'm a three year old.
"Eye....if you'd just stop whining and start listening you'd realize I already gave you the answer. If you'd stop trying to fix it yourself you'd see that I can do this...."
Oh...you mean like when I tell Bean that if she wants me to fix the toy she has to hand it to me? If she wants me to give her something specific she has to tell me what it is? If she is hungry she needs to eat the food I give her? something like that?
My kid is in the why phase. Every. Single. Thing. gets a "why?"
Here's a gem from yesterday:
Bean: I'm hungry.
Me: ok, let's get some lunch.
Bean: why?
Me: You said you're hungry.
Bean: Why did I said I'm hungry?
Me: You tell me.
Bean: Because I want to eat something. Come on mama let's go to the fridge and figure it out!
Me: Ok, coming.
Bean: why?
Me: Purple. because aliens wear hats.
Bean: that's just silly. why are you silly?
Me: Let's get mommy some coffee while we're at it.
Bean: Why?
Maybe I don't spend all day asking the Almighty "Why" but it kind of seems like I question him without actually questioning him. Ooh. existential. Go on, what do you mean by that?
Well, if I say "God I trust you to provide. I trust you to take care of..." then I sit there and crunch numbers, or cry, or panic I'm kinda questioning the ability or maybe even the willingness.
I talk about my kid a lot. Yes. I'm that parent. I adore my child. Yes, there are days when I wonder how many more minutes until naptime, but really - I've got it good. I have an incredibly smart, sweet, funny, caring, tenderhearted little girl. She's brilliant (how many three year olds do you know that can read and do math?) and she's got such a sweet tender heart - if I cover my face with my hands, she runs to my side asking what's wrong. She doesn't care if she was in the middle of a class three meltdown over the granola bar being broken.
When we lost our sweet Baby Sprout, she was too young to understand what was happening...but she knew mommy and daddy were very sad. She responded by being extra cuddly. One day, I couldn't keep the tears in check - I did not hide my grief from her, but I did try to not cry all day. But I was at a point where my broken heart and body hurt too much to hold it in. So I sat down, and I let the tears slip down my face, trying to just watch my little girl play. She stopped what she was doing, climbed into my lap, laid her little head on my chest and said "mommy's here. mommy's here" the same way I've always done for her as I hold her close to soothe her fears and owies....
She's taught me a lot of lessons.
I look at her and I marvel at the miracle. I helped make a whole person. I love her more than life itself, and I've injured myself more than twice keeping her from injury, it's just what you do. You don't think about it, you just do. and if I can do this, this imperfect human complete with selfish nature....how much more does God love us?
I get why God was willing to take our punishment.
I'd rather be commode-hugging-can't-get-off-the-the-bathroom-floor-don't-even-let-me-smell-food sick than have her have a runny nose. If there was a way for me to take illness and owchies from her and put them on myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Bean knows she's loved. If you ask her how much her mommy loves her, she'll smile and tell you more than coffee. Anyone who knows me will smile and tell her "that's a LOT." She knows that it doesn't matter how busy I am, how tired I am, how much I don't feel good - she KNOWS if she needs (and I do mean needs) her mama, I will be there. She knows that I will stop typing mid-sentence, drop the cell phone, turn off the sink/stove/steam mop and come running. She knows I will hold, her pray over her, kiss the boo-boo and trap the scary things. She knows I love her unconditionally and that even when she has a "threenager" day, I'm still going to love her. I'm still going to hold her and kiss her goodnight and pray with her and tell her I love her.
Now take that and multiply it by infinity and we've scratched the surface of how much God loves us.
Astounding isn't it?
If you haven't read it, Crazy Love by Francis Chan is an amazing read on the topic. Go check it out. I'll wait.
Showing posts with label heart's cry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heart's cry. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
What are you thinking?
I'm sure you've seen them out there...the "what a stay home parent really does all day" posts. Some are hilarious. Some are sanctimonious. Some are heartbreaking. Some are a mesh of all of them.
Guess what? this isn't a post about being a stay home mom.
This is a post about this particular mom, who woke up with a lot on her mind.
I also woke up with a monster headache. Allergies are mean.
Had a "moment" with my daughter and got her back to bed for some much needed sleep. I despise the days she does not nap because she's that three year old that really does need it...otherwise she reverts to newborn sleep habits which I do not so much enjoy.
I decided to stay up, get some coffee and read my Bible...even spouted some profound thoughts to Twitter.
The verse that's sticking with me today is in Psalms - actually it's two verses. Psalm 139:23-24. I generally read from the ESV, which says: "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!"
You've probably seen it in the NIV, where it says "anxious" instead of grievous.
When a verse really grabs me, I like to look at it in several translations, one of my favorites being The Message.
"Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I’m about; See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life."
That's a heavy lesson for a day. Basically saying ok God, you see it all anyway, lay it out for me. Where am I screwing up so I can fix it?
Ouch. I mean really who likes to have their faults pointed out? Who likes to be reminded that they are not perfect?
My husband has been spending a lot of time studying the pursuit of holiness - a holy life. Wow, that seems ambitious doesn't it? I think a lot of people will confuse holy with self-righteous. Which can get ugly fast.
Guess what?
I'm not perfect. I don't have wonderful thoughts of all the wonderful things all day long. I worry. I stress. Sometimes I react instead of respond. Does that mean that I can't pursue a holy life? Nope. Does it mean I'm "doomed and a bad Christian?" Far from it. It makes me a human in need of grace and mercy. Good thing God is loving and forgiving and full of grace and mercy He's aching to hand me as soon as I figure out I need to ask for it.
Sometimes I don't say I'm a Christian when I'm asked about my faith. It's not because I'm ashamed. It's not because I think that I need to hide.
It's because unfortunately there are some people with a spotlight and a stage who call themselves Christians and then open their mouths and cast a horrid light on the rest of us. I say I have a relationship with God. It's not a religion. Because to me, it's not. it's about my relationship with God. My realization that I cannot draw breath without God. My understanding that God is real, that I've seen him move in my life, heal my body, answer my prayers and comfort me when I'm destroyed. I don't need a stage. I don't want a spotlight. I do want for those that do want the stage and the spotlight to think before they speak. So many people I've encountered tell me that it's Christians that have turned them off to God, that they seem worse than people just trying to live a good life. That they are hurtful and judgmental and mean and even cruel. That they are high and mighty and look down on everyone around them...reminds me of the Pharisees in the Bible.
I'm not called to call everyone out on their sin. I'm called to love my neighbor, to be kind, to fill needs as I can. I'm called to be an ambassador for Christ.
I'm still figuring out how to do that.
So, here I sit, open heart asking God to "show me what I need to fix, and give me the strength to fix it."
Guess what? this isn't a post about being a stay home mom.
This is a post about this particular mom, who woke up with a lot on her mind.
I also woke up with a monster headache. Allergies are mean.
Had a "moment" with my daughter and got her back to bed for some much needed sleep. I despise the days she does not nap because she's that three year old that really does need it...otherwise she reverts to newborn sleep habits which I do not so much enjoy.
I decided to stay up, get some coffee and read my Bible...even spouted some profound thoughts to Twitter.
The verse that's sticking with me today is in Psalms - actually it's two verses. Psalm 139:23-24. I generally read from the ESV, which says: "Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!"
You've probably seen it in the NIV, where it says "anxious" instead of grievous.
When a verse really grabs me, I like to look at it in several translations, one of my favorites being The Message.
"Investigate my life, O God, find out everything about me; Cross-examine and test me, get a clear picture of what I’m about; See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong— then guide me on the road to eternal life."
That's a heavy lesson for a day. Basically saying ok God, you see it all anyway, lay it out for me. Where am I screwing up so I can fix it?
Ouch. I mean really who likes to have their faults pointed out? Who likes to be reminded that they are not perfect?
My husband has been spending a lot of time studying the pursuit of holiness - a holy life. Wow, that seems ambitious doesn't it? I think a lot of people will confuse holy with self-righteous. Which can get ugly fast.
Guess what?
I'm not perfect. I don't have wonderful thoughts of all the wonderful things all day long. I worry. I stress. Sometimes I react instead of respond. Does that mean that I can't pursue a holy life? Nope. Does it mean I'm "doomed and a bad Christian?" Far from it. It makes me a human in need of grace and mercy. Good thing God is loving and forgiving and full of grace and mercy He's aching to hand me as soon as I figure out I need to ask for it.
Sometimes I don't say I'm a Christian when I'm asked about my faith. It's not because I'm ashamed. It's not because I think that I need to hide.
It's because unfortunately there are some people with a spotlight and a stage who call themselves Christians and then open their mouths and cast a horrid light on the rest of us. I say I have a relationship with God. It's not a religion. Because to me, it's not. it's about my relationship with God. My realization that I cannot draw breath without God. My understanding that God is real, that I've seen him move in my life, heal my body, answer my prayers and comfort me when I'm destroyed. I don't need a stage. I don't want a spotlight. I do want for those that do want the stage and the spotlight to think before they speak. So many people I've encountered tell me that it's Christians that have turned them off to God, that they seem worse than people just trying to live a good life. That they are hurtful and judgmental and mean and even cruel. That they are high and mighty and look down on everyone around them...reminds me of the Pharisees in the Bible.
I'm not called to call everyone out on their sin. I'm called to love my neighbor, to be kind, to fill needs as I can. I'm called to be an ambassador for Christ.
I'm still figuring out how to do that.
So, here I sit, open heart asking God to "show me what I need to fix, and give me the strength to fix it."
Monday, April 13, 2015
Is it possible to find hope or even beauty in ashes?
As a courtesy, I want to give you a heads up that miscarriage is discussed in this post. My hope in sharing the story of my loss is to provide hope to someone experiencing the same thing. It's horrible. It's painful, but as one who has made it to the other side....there is hope. I'm no expert. I'm not a doctor or a counselor. I haven't experienced multiple losses. I'm just a mama to two - one in my arms and one in Heaven. I'm just someone who faced the unspeakable and survived.
I've heard countless times about finding beauty in ashes. The Bible says that weeping may endure for an evening, but joy comes in the morning...but the thing is...sometimes that evening endures much longer than one night.
I've experienced the joy of positive pregnancy tests twice in my life. The first time was in January 2011. It was 4:30 in the morning and I was staring at those two purple lines, bleary eyed and not believing what I saw. I woke my husband with a joyful shout, and there we were, the two of us trying to decide if that faint second line REALLY was there or if we just wanted it to be....we resolved to go back to bed and I'd take another test the next day. That test was much clearer. I was pregnant. Being that I'd never been pregnant before I did what any logical woman would do...I took another test the next day...and the next...ok. Five. I took five tests. On the last one the "you're pregnant" line showed up before the control line. Later that year, I gave birth to a beautiful TINY five pound, eight ounce, 18 inch long baby girl. If you're a frequent visitor to my little corner of the internet, you've read about her many many times, our sweet baby Bean.
But wait, you said twice? I've only read about Bean....
Yes, I did say twice.
The second time was Father's Day weekend, 2013. This time there was no doubting those lines. Or the very clear "PREGNANT" printed on the digital test. My husband skipped off to work, grinning ear to ear, thrilled about the best father's day gift ever. We were scheduled to go camping with our small group and decided we should still go, and we "broke the rule" and shared our news with our friends. We were over the moon. We told Bean she would be a big sister. We decided on a nickname for this baby, just as we had with Bean. This one was dubbed "Sprout." We taught Bean to point to my belly and say "Baby Sprout" and that she would be a big sister. We thought all was fine. I went to my first prenatal visit, got my due date and an order for an ultrasound to find out just how far along I was.
I began journalling the pregnancy as I had the first time. We had an estimated due date, which would be confirmed by the ultrasound. I went to that appointment expecting to come out with a picture of a tiny bean shaped baby to send to my family.
That's where the slow journey began. They couldn't find the baby on the ultrasound. The tech was very kind to me, saying maybe I just wasn't as far along as we thought. Her supervisor, not so kind. Rough and rude in her words "there's nothing in your uterus. There's nothing outside of it."
I sat in that little room, sobbing, wondering what had happened - I hadn't experienced any bleeding or cramping. I had multiple positive pregnancy tests - even the blood tests from my doctor had confirmed there was life growing within me, so what was wrong?
My OB ran more blood tests and confirmed yes, there is a baby there, just could be a little further behind than we thought, we'd do another ultrasound in a couple of weeks, and how was I feeling. I calmed down, reassured by the lab results.
But then a week or so later I felt a trickle that sent a cold chill up my spine and a trip to the bathroom confirmed some spotting. I started to shake and cry as I called Bug. He asked what I thought I should do. I told him I would call the doctor...which I did.
They asked if there was any cramping and I sadly realized there was. I was immediately sent to my closest ER. The staff was kind and ran all the usual tests and sent me home saying that my hormones were the low end of normal but it was likely implantation bleeding and to just keep my next OB appointment.
We left, relieved and headed home. Then I looked at my discharge paperwork. It said "incomplete miscarriage." I nearly threw up on the sidewalk. I got home and paged my OB right away, who told me that he'd been called by the hospital, but that I'd been released when he called back and he was so glad I'd called. I had something called threatened miscarriage and he wanted to see me first thing the next day. He said that there was still the chance it could turn to a miscarriage but that we didn't know anything for sure at this time.
I was comforted, but still scared. I reached out to my support system, begging for prayers. My sweet cousin has suffered this loss four times. She was so supportive and gentle in letting me know that I should rest as much as possible - if it did turn to the unspeakable, and she was not saying that was this, I could feel labor pains.
If you are squeamish, now's the time to turn away. If you are uncomfortable with talk of bleeding and medical things, turn away. Skip to the end, do a control + f search for ITSOKTO LOOK (all one word) to get to that part.
I woke up full of hope the next day. Bug and I headed to the OB and as we waited for my name to be called I started to feel more and more uncomfortable. I used the bathroom and passed a large clot. Instant terror.
I was starting to recognize those pangs in my lower back. The doctor came in and asked about the bleeding and pain and told me I needed to go straight to the hospital. I asked if I was losing the baby. He said he didn't know, that it could be something decided to bleed, or I could be losing the baby, we wouldn't know until some tests were run. He was kind, soft in his words. He didn't offer false hope, but he also didn't scare me. We left for the hospital, two blocks away. The same hospital where I had given birth to Bean. We sent a quick text to my mother and the person watching Bean to let them know what was up. I felt my hope slipping away...even more so as I realized the bleeding was getting worse. I give the hospital a lot of credit. They kept me in the ER rather than sending me to the maternity floor. They put me in a room far away from all the other patients. They were quick to get to me, hook up the IV, draw the blood and schedule an ultrasound. The attending on call that day was hilarious and did his best to keep the tension in the room low while still showing the proper seriousness for what was going on.
They said they needed a urine sample. The cup I returned to them looked like I'd filled it with Hawaiian punch. Hope was a distant glimmer. The pains were intensifying. I'd been here before. I opted for a natural birth with Bean.
I went down for my ultrasound and the tech informed me they'd be doing both external and internal. She did the external and sent me to the bathroom. Anyone who has ever had a natural birth will tell you that there's a point where your body just takes over and does what it needs to. It pushes for you, draws all of your strength into that moment and pushes.
And that was the moment mine took over. I felt it push. I looked and saw a "clot" about the size of my fist and I knew. Sprout was gone. This was it. There was no more hope. Not knowing what to do, I left everything as is and shut the bathroom door. I returned to the ultrasound room and took the last of my courage to tell the tech what had happened and I didn't know what to do. Her face echoed back some of my pain. She told me to lay down and she'd take care of it. She was kind enough to call the attending from another room. She came back and finished the ultrasound quickly and quietly as I tried not to cry. She put me in a wheelchair and called for transport and I sat there. Just trying to hold to it together and figuring out what I would say to Bug. How had we gotten to this place? I was 9 weeks along. We should have been talking about creative ways to publicly share the news in a couple of weeks. Instead, I had to tell him that we lost our baby.
As I sat there, a tiny infant was wheeled in and parked next to me. That was the tipping point. There was no holding back the tears. They fell, soaking my gown. The transport lady arrived and I tried to tell her through my sobs what room I was in.
I walked in and a nurse was with Bug. I threw myself into his arms and said, "I have no more hope." It was all I could manage. He asked if something else had happened and I told him. Then it hit me even harder and I knew I was about to throw up. The nurse sprang to action and got me a basin and went running to ask my doctor if I could have something to stop it. She came back with the necessary medicine and put it in my IV as another nurse came to take my blood pressure, all the while I was trying to pull myself together. The attending and his assistant came in and he gently asked about my bleeding. I sniffled and told him what had happened. He looked at me and did what I must imagine is one of the hardest things for a doctor to do. He confirmed my baby was dead. "We got your blood work back, your hormones are slipping. I'm so sorry, you've lost your baby."
I wailed. I leaned against my husband and I wailed. I now understand what they are talking about in the Bible about the wailing of the mothers that could not be stopped. The doctor told us he'd give us some time to deal with the news and pulled everyone but Bug away from me - even the nurse mid blood pressure read. I looked to the doctor and asked if there was anything I could have for the pain since the baby was gone. He said of course and left the room, saying that he would also call down someone from OB to assess me.
He left and shut the door and Bug and I just leaned on each other crying, baffled, hurt, sad, scared even. Then I made the only call I was able to. I called my mom, and when she answered all I could say was "we lost the baby." She knew what was coming. She'd been in my shoes and probably knew before I did because of it. I asked her to make the necessary calls because I just couldn't. She told me not to worry about it. She told me she was so sorry and she wept with me. I hung up the phone and texted the couple of people I knew were waiting for news. "Baby Sprout is with Jesus now." Bug called his parents and his sister, who was watching Bean. He called Bean's godparents and in the midst of that call, the room started to get very dark and spin. I gripped his arm and said something is wrong and told him what was happening.
He hung up the phone and ran for the nurses' station. The attending was who returned. He told me I was losing far too much blood and that he needed to get someone from OB down now to help things along and that they'd get me started on more fluids and hooked up to a monitor. The nurses worked quickly and quietly, administered the pain medication which sadly didn't do much for the intensifying contractions I was feeling. They were close together, and getting to be unbearable. I think it was because this time I knew that there was no purpose to this pain. With Bean, every contraction brought me that much closer to holding her. There was a reason for it, therefore it was tolerable despite the intensity.
The resident who came in tried to be sensitive. I felt bad for her. I think she said it was her second week of residency. She called the contractions "cramps" for some reason, I think to soften the blow. But then she reviewed the ultrasound report and said that it looked to be "a complete abortion" so a D and C wouldn't be necessary. Abortion? That made it sound like I had a choice here. I thought she was trying to soften the blow. I tried not to be angry at her. It wasn't her fault that this is the medical terminology they use.
The chief resident came in after that and explained what she needed to do and warned me that it would be extremely painful. She was right. I told her which medicine I'd received and she said good, this is really going to hurt.
I shudder to think how much it would have hurt if the medication had not been circulating through my system. It was far more painful than giving birth. Bug said one of the hardest parts of that day was seeing me there, writhing in pain knowing there was nothing he could do.
It was so unfair. There I was, going through the pain, the labor, the turning my body inside out...and I would not be going home with a baby.
ITSOKTOLOOK
I've been asked how I got through it. I've heard "I know you're a woman of faith, but THAT?"
Yes. It was easily the worst day of my life. It was even worse than when my brother died.
If you've been there, you've got a good idea of how I can say that. If you haven't been there, I pray you never find out. Some asked if I was sorry I'd shared our news because now I had to take it back. I was not sorry. In fact, it made it easier to tell in some aspects - they knew about the baby, the estimated due date, all of the questions you usually hear when you tell someone you're expecting....so there weren't a lot of "oh wow, I didn't even know you were pregnant, how far along were you, was it a surprised, were you excited..." type statements. Instead, it was a flood of support....or at least attempts at it.
I heard everything. "It was meant to be this way. God needed the baby more than you. At least you have Bean. Just try again." Some of the comments cut deep. It was not that I thought I was pregnant and I wasn't. I was pregnant.
There was a baby growing inside of me and it died. There is nothing ok about that.
I also heard the things meant to be more supportive "It's ok to be angry at God" was something I heard a lot of. I never was.
Looking back His hand was evident through the day. Angry? No. Baffled? Absolutely. I still don't understand how God could allow us to conceive a child that had no chances at survival. We were told that the baby was so chromosomially deficient it couldn't survive. That as harsh as it is to say, it was a mercy of sorts - that the handful of children this deficient that do survive to birth live very short, very painful lives. I was grateful that my baby never felt pain. I think it was a boy. I have nothing to go on, but I think it was a boy.
So many people wanted to be sympathetic. They tried, they really did. But they just didn't get it and they didn't understand why I wasn't "better" in a few days. Someone told me that most people understand the loss of a loved one, most people have lost at least one person in their life, but no one knows what to say to someone who has miscarried. I told her I'd rather hear "I don't know what to say to you" than the "buck up" type stuff. I think the biggest misconception is that people don't get that a miscarriage is a death too.
I read article after article, blog after blog about how much harder it is to grief the loss of an unborn child.
The easiest way it was explained was that when we lose a loved one, all of our emotions are rooted in the past. The day we met, our lives together. We have memories and photographs. There is a wake and a funeral to bring us closure.
With a miscarriage, all of the emotions are rooted in the future. The due date, the name, who would s/he have looked like? There is no wake or funeral. In our case not even an identifiable body. It went from feeling a life within me to an empty ache where the baby used to be. And that's not something you just get over. There was an instant bond that formed between Sprout and me the second I saw that positive test. I fell madly in love with my baby as soon as I knew there was one. To say goodbye before getting to say hello...it broke my heart.
YES. I have gotten through this valley - but I will never get over the loss of my child.
The most helpful thing going through that pain was a sweet kindred spirit who reached out to me, shared her own pain and told me of her loss. She checked in on me, told me I was in her thoughts and prayers and that if I needed to talk I could talk to her.
After that a few more women who'd been there reached out to me and I discovered that being able to talk with someone who had been there, to openly share what had happened, to hear their survival stories helped to heal the pain.
That's where the truly supportive things came from. "There is no expiration on grief. Take your time. It's ok to cry. Lean on your husband, share this with him, he lost a baby too. Keep your doctor in the loop, make sure to tell him about your pain level both physical and emotional." My cousin sent me a care package and openly talked about how she and her husband handled their losses - the things that helped, the things that didn't; she understood when I needed to just talk through the day, every minute of it and try to figure out where it all went off the rails. She comforted and offered suggestions, never a "you should..." but a couple of "look, this is a you need to" but never in a way that made me feel like I wasn't allowed to feel.
There were a couple of big ones in there. Like talking to Bug and remembering it wasn't just my loss. I went through a period of self-blame. "I had one job. To care for this baby and grow it and safely bring it into the world and I FAILED. It's all my fault. What if I ate something wrong? What if...what if...what ifffffffffffffff"
My doc kept close watch over me, prescribing the necessary things as they were needed to help me heal physically and deal emotionally. So I was covered there...but I was beginning to feel like I had to close off. Just internalize my pain because people were "sick of me being a downer." I had put a short message on facebook, simply asking for prayer and saying we'd had a miscarriage. I figured it was the easiest way to spread the word because I was certain that there were those among the "inner circle of knowing" that had that moment of "I'm not supposed to say...but guess who's pregnant..."
It just seemed the easiest. Yes, I opened myself up to many comments meant to comfort but instead hurt deeply. I tried to focus on the intention instead of the words, but more often than not it just made me angry.
It was remembering those feelings that prompted this post....
If you're the friend/family member/loved one/spouse of a woman who has gone through this, you've never experienced it for yourself, but are reading this anyway, looking for ways to be comforting and helpful to the Angel Baby Mama, God bless you. My best advice? Go at her pace. Let her talk about it as much or as little as she wants to. If you can't handle the details of the actual loss, be honest and up front about that. And one thing? Never say you know exactly how she feels because you don't and can't, and that is not a slam against you. All you need to know is she is hurting. Meals were incredibly helpful, offers of child care for my daughter were as well. Notes/texts just to let us know we were being thought of were nice. People understanding when we couldn't put our feelings into words, and just offering their condolences. There were times I needed to just be silent, but there were times when I needed to talk through it. Not having to be silent about my pain was huge.
If you're reading this because you've experienced that heartwrenching loss, first of all, I am so very very sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry you said goodbye before you could say hello. I'm sorry you had to share the news that your good news is no longer good. I'm sorry that you endured that physical pain. I'm sorry that your heart hurts. Talking is good. Keep your doctor posted on how you feel both physically and emotionally.
I pray you are able to find peace and comfort. Take your time, there is no expiration date on grief.
People are going to say unbelievably stupid things. It's ok to distance yourself from those people. It's not ok to isolate yourself completely and drown in your grief. You need someone to talk to. When I tried to bottle it, the illogical took over, the what ifs drowned out any sort of comfort...but when I was open with my husband, sharing OUR pain, I found a sweet comfort in the midst of the grief. There was even comfort in crying together.
Talking to those women, other "Angel Baby Mamas" (I love that term.), showed me it was possible to get through this unfathomable grief.
You're not alone. Your pain is shared.
Psalm 34:18 tells us that God is near to the brokenhearted; He's close to those who are crushed in spirit. The message translation says "If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath."
It's my hope that my story offers comfort, peace, maybe even some wisdom. I'm no expert.
I'm just a survivor.
I've heard countless times about finding beauty in ashes. The Bible says that weeping may endure for an evening, but joy comes in the morning...but the thing is...sometimes that evening endures much longer than one night.
I've experienced the joy of positive pregnancy tests twice in my life. The first time was in January 2011. It was 4:30 in the morning and I was staring at those two purple lines, bleary eyed and not believing what I saw. I woke my husband with a joyful shout, and there we were, the two of us trying to decide if that faint second line REALLY was there or if we just wanted it to be....we resolved to go back to bed and I'd take another test the next day. That test was much clearer. I was pregnant. Being that I'd never been pregnant before I did what any logical woman would do...I took another test the next day...and the next...ok. Five. I took five tests. On the last one the "you're pregnant" line showed up before the control line. Later that year, I gave birth to a beautiful TINY five pound, eight ounce, 18 inch long baby girl. If you're a frequent visitor to my little corner of the internet, you've read about her many many times, our sweet baby Bean.
But wait, you said twice? I've only read about Bean....
Yes, I did say twice.
The second time was Father's Day weekend, 2013. This time there was no doubting those lines. Or the very clear "PREGNANT" printed on the digital test. My husband skipped off to work, grinning ear to ear, thrilled about the best father's day gift ever. We were scheduled to go camping with our small group and decided we should still go, and we "broke the rule" and shared our news with our friends. We were over the moon. We told Bean she would be a big sister. We decided on a nickname for this baby, just as we had with Bean. This one was dubbed "Sprout." We taught Bean to point to my belly and say "Baby Sprout" and that she would be a big sister. We thought all was fine. I went to my first prenatal visit, got my due date and an order for an ultrasound to find out just how far along I was.
I began journalling the pregnancy as I had the first time. We had an estimated due date, which would be confirmed by the ultrasound. I went to that appointment expecting to come out with a picture of a tiny bean shaped baby to send to my family.
That's where the slow journey began. They couldn't find the baby on the ultrasound. The tech was very kind to me, saying maybe I just wasn't as far along as we thought. Her supervisor, not so kind. Rough and rude in her words "there's nothing in your uterus. There's nothing outside of it."
I sat in that little room, sobbing, wondering what had happened - I hadn't experienced any bleeding or cramping. I had multiple positive pregnancy tests - even the blood tests from my doctor had confirmed there was life growing within me, so what was wrong?
My OB ran more blood tests and confirmed yes, there is a baby there, just could be a little further behind than we thought, we'd do another ultrasound in a couple of weeks, and how was I feeling. I calmed down, reassured by the lab results.
But then a week or so later I felt a trickle that sent a cold chill up my spine and a trip to the bathroom confirmed some spotting. I started to shake and cry as I called Bug. He asked what I thought I should do. I told him I would call the doctor...which I did.
They asked if there was any cramping and I sadly realized there was. I was immediately sent to my closest ER. The staff was kind and ran all the usual tests and sent me home saying that my hormones were the low end of normal but it was likely implantation bleeding and to just keep my next OB appointment.
We left, relieved and headed home. Then I looked at my discharge paperwork. It said "incomplete miscarriage." I nearly threw up on the sidewalk. I got home and paged my OB right away, who told me that he'd been called by the hospital, but that I'd been released when he called back and he was so glad I'd called. I had something called threatened miscarriage and he wanted to see me first thing the next day. He said that there was still the chance it could turn to a miscarriage but that we didn't know anything for sure at this time.
I was comforted, but still scared. I reached out to my support system, begging for prayers. My sweet cousin has suffered this loss four times. She was so supportive and gentle in letting me know that I should rest as much as possible - if it did turn to the unspeakable, and she was not saying that was this, I could feel labor pains.
If you are squeamish, now's the time to turn away. If you are uncomfortable with talk of bleeding and medical things, turn away. Skip to the end, do a control + f search for ITSOKTO LOOK (all one word) to get to that part.
I woke up full of hope the next day. Bug and I headed to the OB and as we waited for my name to be called I started to feel more and more uncomfortable. I used the bathroom and passed a large clot. Instant terror.
I was starting to recognize those pangs in my lower back. The doctor came in and asked about the bleeding and pain and told me I needed to go straight to the hospital. I asked if I was losing the baby. He said he didn't know, that it could be something decided to bleed, or I could be losing the baby, we wouldn't know until some tests were run. He was kind, soft in his words. He didn't offer false hope, but he also didn't scare me. We left for the hospital, two blocks away. The same hospital where I had given birth to Bean. We sent a quick text to my mother and the person watching Bean to let them know what was up. I felt my hope slipping away...even more so as I realized the bleeding was getting worse. I give the hospital a lot of credit. They kept me in the ER rather than sending me to the maternity floor. They put me in a room far away from all the other patients. They were quick to get to me, hook up the IV, draw the blood and schedule an ultrasound. The attending on call that day was hilarious and did his best to keep the tension in the room low while still showing the proper seriousness for what was going on.
They said they needed a urine sample. The cup I returned to them looked like I'd filled it with Hawaiian punch. Hope was a distant glimmer. The pains were intensifying. I'd been here before. I opted for a natural birth with Bean.
I went down for my ultrasound and the tech informed me they'd be doing both external and internal. She did the external and sent me to the bathroom. Anyone who has ever had a natural birth will tell you that there's a point where your body just takes over and does what it needs to. It pushes for you, draws all of your strength into that moment and pushes.
And that was the moment mine took over. I felt it push. I looked and saw a "clot" about the size of my fist and I knew. Sprout was gone. This was it. There was no more hope. Not knowing what to do, I left everything as is and shut the bathroom door. I returned to the ultrasound room and took the last of my courage to tell the tech what had happened and I didn't know what to do. Her face echoed back some of my pain. She told me to lay down and she'd take care of it. She was kind enough to call the attending from another room. She came back and finished the ultrasound quickly and quietly as I tried not to cry. She put me in a wheelchair and called for transport and I sat there. Just trying to hold to it together and figuring out what I would say to Bug. How had we gotten to this place? I was 9 weeks along. We should have been talking about creative ways to publicly share the news in a couple of weeks. Instead, I had to tell him that we lost our baby.
As I sat there, a tiny infant was wheeled in and parked next to me. That was the tipping point. There was no holding back the tears. They fell, soaking my gown. The transport lady arrived and I tried to tell her through my sobs what room I was in.
I walked in and a nurse was with Bug. I threw myself into his arms and said, "I have no more hope." It was all I could manage. He asked if something else had happened and I told him. Then it hit me even harder and I knew I was about to throw up. The nurse sprang to action and got me a basin and went running to ask my doctor if I could have something to stop it. She came back with the necessary medicine and put it in my IV as another nurse came to take my blood pressure, all the while I was trying to pull myself together. The attending and his assistant came in and he gently asked about my bleeding. I sniffled and told him what had happened. He looked at me and did what I must imagine is one of the hardest things for a doctor to do. He confirmed my baby was dead. "We got your blood work back, your hormones are slipping. I'm so sorry, you've lost your baby."
I wailed. I leaned against my husband and I wailed. I now understand what they are talking about in the Bible about the wailing of the mothers that could not be stopped. The doctor told us he'd give us some time to deal with the news and pulled everyone but Bug away from me - even the nurse mid blood pressure read. I looked to the doctor and asked if there was anything I could have for the pain since the baby was gone. He said of course and left the room, saying that he would also call down someone from OB to assess me.
He left and shut the door and Bug and I just leaned on each other crying, baffled, hurt, sad, scared even. Then I made the only call I was able to. I called my mom, and when she answered all I could say was "we lost the baby." She knew what was coming. She'd been in my shoes and probably knew before I did because of it. I asked her to make the necessary calls because I just couldn't. She told me not to worry about it. She told me she was so sorry and she wept with me. I hung up the phone and texted the couple of people I knew were waiting for news. "Baby Sprout is with Jesus now." Bug called his parents and his sister, who was watching Bean. He called Bean's godparents and in the midst of that call, the room started to get very dark and spin. I gripped his arm and said something is wrong and told him what was happening.
He hung up the phone and ran for the nurses' station. The attending was who returned. He told me I was losing far too much blood and that he needed to get someone from OB down now to help things along and that they'd get me started on more fluids and hooked up to a monitor. The nurses worked quickly and quietly, administered the pain medication which sadly didn't do much for the intensifying contractions I was feeling. They were close together, and getting to be unbearable. I think it was because this time I knew that there was no purpose to this pain. With Bean, every contraction brought me that much closer to holding her. There was a reason for it, therefore it was tolerable despite the intensity.
The resident who came in tried to be sensitive. I felt bad for her. I think she said it was her second week of residency. She called the contractions "cramps" for some reason, I think to soften the blow. But then she reviewed the ultrasound report and said that it looked to be "a complete abortion" so a D and C wouldn't be necessary. Abortion? That made it sound like I had a choice here. I thought she was trying to soften the blow. I tried not to be angry at her. It wasn't her fault that this is the medical terminology they use.
The chief resident came in after that and explained what she needed to do and warned me that it would be extremely painful. She was right. I told her which medicine I'd received and she said good, this is really going to hurt.
I shudder to think how much it would have hurt if the medication had not been circulating through my system. It was far more painful than giving birth. Bug said one of the hardest parts of that day was seeing me there, writhing in pain knowing there was nothing he could do.
It was so unfair. There I was, going through the pain, the labor, the turning my body inside out...and I would not be going home with a baby.
I've been asked how I got through it. I've heard "I know you're a woman of faith, but THAT?"
Yes. It was easily the worst day of my life. It was even worse than when my brother died.
If you've been there, you've got a good idea of how I can say that. If you haven't been there, I pray you never find out. Some asked if I was sorry I'd shared our news because now I had to take it back. I was not sorry. In fact, it made it easier to tell in some aspects - they knew about the baby, the estimated due date, all of the questions you usually hear when you tell someone you're expecting....so there weren't a lot of "oh wow, I didn't even know you were pregnant, how far along were you, was it a surprised, were you excited..." type statements. Instead, it was a flood of support....or at least attempts at it.
I heard everything. "It was meant to be this way. God needed the baby more than you. At least you have Bean. Just try again." Some of the comments cut deep. It was not that I thought I was pregnant and I wasn't. I was pregnant.
There was a baby growing inside of me and it died. There is nothing ok about that.
I also heard the things meant to be more supportive "It's ok to be angry at God" was something I heard a lot of. I never was.
Looking back His hand was evident through the day. Angry? No. Baffled? Absolutely. I still don't understand how God could allow us to conceive a child that had no chances at survival. We were told that the baby was so chromosomially deficient it couldn't survive. That as harsh as it is to say, it was a mercy of sorts - that the handful of children this deficient that do survive to birth live very short, very painful lives. I was grateful that my baby never felt pain. I think it was a boy. I have nothing to go on, but I think it was a boy.
So many people wanted to be sympathetic. They tried, they really did. But they just didn't get it and they didn't understand why I wasn't "better" in a few days. Someone told me that most people understand the loss of a loved one, most people have lost at least one person in their life, but no one knows what to say to someone who has miscarried. I told her I'd rather hear "I don't know what to say to you" than the "buck up" type stuff. I think the biggest misconception is that people don't get that a miscarriage is a death too.
I read article after article, blog after blog about how much harder it is to grief the loss of an unborn child.
The easiest way it was explained was that when we lose a loved one, all of our emotions are rooted in the past. The day we met, our lives together. We have memories and photographs. There is a wake and a funeral to bring us closure.
YES. I have gotten through this valley - but I will never get over the loss of my child.
The most helpful thing going through that pain was a sweet kindred spirit who reached out to me, shared her own pain and told me of her loss. She checked in on me, told me I was in her thoughts and prayers and that if I needed to talk I could talk to her.
After that a few more women who'd been there reached out to me and I discovered that being able to talk with someone who had been there, to openly share what had happened, to hear their survival stories helped to heal the pain.
That's where the truly supportive things came from. "There is no expiration on grief. Take your time. It's ok to cry. Lean on your husband, share this with him, he lost a baby too. Keep your doctor in the loop, make sure to tell him about your pain level both physical and emotional." My cousin sent me a care package and openly talked about how she and her husband handled their losses - the things that helped, the things that didn't; she understood when I needed to just talk through the day, every minute of it and try to figure out where it all went off the rails. She comforted and offered suggestions, never a "you should..." but a couple of "look, this is a you need to" but never in a way that made me feel like I wasn't allowed to feel.
There were a couple of big ones in there. Like talking to Bug and remembering it wasn't just my loss. I went through a period of self-blame. "I had one job. To care for this baby and grow it and safely bring it into the world and I FAILED. It's all my fault. What if I ate something wrong? What if...what if...what ifffffffffffffff"
My doc kept close watch over me, prescribing the necessary things as they were needed to help me heal physically and deal emotionally. So I was covered there...but I was beginning to feel like I had to close off. Just internalize my pain because people were "sick of me being a downer." I had put a short message on facebook, simply asking for prayer and saying we'd had a miscarriage. I figured it was the easiest way to spread the word because I was certain that there were those among the "inner circle of knowing" that had that moment of "I'm not supposed to say...but guess who's pregnant..."
It just seemed the easiest. Yes, I opened myself up to many comments meant to comfort but instead hurt deeply. I tried to focus on the intention instead of the words, but more often than not it just made me angry.
It was remembering those feelings that prompted this post....
If you're the friend/family member/loved one/spouse of a woman who has gone through this, you've never experienced it for yourself, but are reading this anyway, looking for ways to be comforting and helpful to the Angel Baby Mama, God bless you. My best advice? Go at her pace. Let her talk about it as much or as little as she wants to. If you can't handle the details of the actual loss, be honest and up front about that. And one thing? Never say you know exactly how she feels because you don't and can't, and that is not a slam against you. All you need to know is she is hurting. Meals were incredibly helpful, offers of child care for my daughter were as well. Notes/texts just to let us know we were being thought of were nice. People understanding when we couldn't put our feelings into words, and just offering their condolences. There were times I needed to just be silent, but there were times when I needed to talk through it. Not having to be silent about my pain was huge.If you're reading this because you've experienced that heartwrenching loss, first of all, I am so very very sorry for your loss.
I'm sorry you said goodbye before you could say hello. I'm sorry you had to share the news that your good news is no longer good. I'm sorry that you endured that physical pain. I'm sorry that your heart hurts. Talking is good. Keep your doctor posted on how you feel both physically and emotionally.
I pray you are able to find peace and comfort. Take your time, there is no expiration date on grief.
People are going to say unbelievably stupid things. It's ok to distance yourself from those people. It's not ok to isolate yourself completely and drown in your grief. You need someone to talk to. When I tried to bottle it, the illogical took over, the what ifs drowned out any sort of comfort...but when I was open with my husband, sharing OUR pain, I found a sweet comfort in the midst of the grief. There was even comfort in crying together.
Talking to those women, other "Angel Baby Mamas" (I love that term.), showed me it was possible to get through this unfathomable grief.
You're not alone. Your pain is shared.
Psalm 34:18 tells us that God is near to the brokenhearted; He's close to those who are crushed in spirit. The message translation says "If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath."
It's my hope that my story offers comfort, peace, maybe even some wisdom. I'm no expert.
I'm just a survivor.
Wednesday, April 08, 2015
Ok. You've figured out you believe. Now what?
I'll never forget it as long as I live.
I'd grown up in a Christian home. I went to church every Sunday, even many Wednesdays. I went to AWANA. I memorized scripture, I accepted Christ personally. I was baptized. I sang the hymns, I prayed, I knew God wanted me to be good. I knew that I needed to live a life pleasing to Him. This was just a given. It was the life I knew. I primarily went to Christian schools, with only two years in a public school system. The first time, the culture shock was astounding. I couldn't believe the language I was hearing in open hallways. And none of the teachers said anything about it. That was the first crack in my shiny bubble.
The next crack surprisingly occurred in a Christian school setting...I learned that I could easily convince my parents I was at a sanctioned activity but be off doing whatever I wanted. That was a big crack. The kind of crack that makes you wonder if your parents really knew what they were talking about.
I still held to my faith, but I wasn't as diligent about it.
Fast forward a few years. I'm a bright shiny freshman in college, having graduated high school a year early I feel I have a bit to prove to the professors as I sit in class, feverishly taking notes and wondering how tests work in college and marveling at the "attendance policies." It was official. I was "grown up" and it was on me to decide if I'd learn or fail.
I had my goals. I would attend a community college, transfer into the local four year school, and then go on to law school. I would become a brilliant lawyer. My mother joked that it was so I could bang on tables and yell objection. I worked carefully with a transfer counselor to make sure not one hour of classes would be wasted. I knew that I would graduate with an Associates Degree in Applied Sciences, then go on to get my Bachelor of Arts with a concentration in Philosophy/Pre-Law. It was a perfect plan. I loved my Philosophy classes. Looking back, I think it's because that's when the rest of the bubble shattered and I realized that I couldn't just believe because I was told to. I couldn't just ride on the coattails of my parents' faith forever. I had to make it real.
Make it real? What does that even mean? As a teen I attended a few "Acquire the Fire" events. They were amazing. If you didn't leave without rededicating your life to God you clearly weren't paying attention. At the end of every prayer we were led in, the teacher would say "now, make it real." He meant to take his words and mull them over. Decide if we meant it and if we did, tell God so. It took me years to figure that out.
I was sitting in my very first Philosophy class, shiny brand new textbooks next to me, fresh notebook and pen. I was ready to learn. I was also a bit excited about the sanctioned arguing encouraged free debate we'd have. It was in that first Philosophy class in community college that my faith was truly challenged for the first time. In a Christian elementary school we can get away with the usual church answers "Jesus. Bible. Pray." That didn't fly in that class. Neither did "because my parents said so." No, that's when I heard that they didn't care what my parents believed, they wanted to know what I believed.
What I believe? Didn't I just tell them? Maybe I didn't....that forced me to take a hard look at my life, my walk, my faith and decide if it really was mine or if I was just being obedient to my parents. (we'll just focus on the whole obedience thing in the aspect of reading my Bible, praying and going to church and not get into the whole I was an invincible 16 year old....)
I remember sitting in that classroom, fighting passionately for what I believe and it hit me. I do believe. I believe with every fiber of my being that God sent his son to this world, that He created the world that he sent his son into, knowing full well Jesus would be mocked, scorned, even hated and tortured.
I always knew it was a huge sacrifice. I got a better picture of it when I became a parent. The first time I had to take my daughter to the emergency room - they wrapped her in tight swaddling blankets to try to put an IV in her dehydrated little hand and she looked to me, screaming as if she was saying "mommy how could you let them do this to me?" I think I cried almost as much as she did. There I was knowing she had to go through this, and that I could not take her pain away. I had to stand there and watch my baby be poked over and over until they were finally able to get her IV in to give her restoring fluids and help her tiny sick body start to heal.
Funny the lessons God teaches through my daughter, but we'll get back to that another time.
I walked out of that Philosophy class floating on air and feeling a new passion for Christ. For the first time in my 17 years I KNEW exactly what I believed. That fueled me for a few more years and then I began to listen to the world around me...and slowly I let myself be led away...never all the way. I knew I still loved God, but I was too busy for church some Sundays. And reading my Bible could wait. I'd realize the place I was in and cry and repent but eventually I'd end up right back in that place again. I couldn't change until I was willing to change everything and it's entirely possible I have a touch of a stubborn streak (mom stop laughing.)
There I was, 21 years old, not really understanding how unhappy I was, but thinking "this is my life. I just need to live it." I was sound asleep on March 16, 2002. It was just before 7 in the morning and the phone rang. I rolled over toward it but decided to let my dad answer it. I'm glad I did. The caller was my step-grandfather. He had the news that would forever alter my young life. I still remember the pink flowered pajamas I was wearing as my dad came in the room. He sat down on my bed and looked at me as if the words were causing him pain. I said "what?" he just looked at me. I started to cry "what daddy, what's wrong?" His next words knocked all the air out of me. "[your brother] was killed in a car accident."
I instantly ranged every emotion thinking he had to be wrong. He had to have it wrong. The wrong person. It's a common name...I went from it can't be to oh no to I can't breathe in seconds. He told me he was going to see my mother and I could come if I wanted to. I tried to think. I had plans for the day, but they needed to be cancelled. I made the two calls I needed to and put on a black turtleneck with Michael Jordan's number on it...borrowed from my brother's closet years before and never returned. In a haze I walked to the driveway and it hit me and I started to violently throw up.
Family friends arrived, crying and saying they couldn't just stay home when we were going through this. They clung to us, they prayed with us, they cried with us. Dad and I drove in silence, save for my sniffles and sobs. My brother was living in a fairly large city at the time, and I had assumed something had happened on a highway in his Mustang. We drove past the church I was attending, and I realized a truck was being pulled up the embankment, a truck with the top cut open and one of my brother's closest friends looked up with a tear-stained face as we drove past. I pressed my hand to the glass as if I could reach out and comfort him. I remember gasping and asking my dad if that was where it had happened. He said he didn't know what happened, only that it had happened.
We pulled into my mother's driveway, and I saw her through the window. She looked out and saw me and drew in a huge breath. She pushed away all of the people near the door so that she could be the first to greet me. She was wearing a yellow Old Navy fleece with blue letters. A single tear was on her right cheek. She hugged me and I asked "what happened?" She did a good job of keeping a semi steady voice as she quietly told me [driver] was driving. My breath drew in so sharp it hurt. "Was he drunk?" She couldn't speak, she only nodded.
You see, I knew this guy. We grew up with him. He was infamous for drinking, doing drugs and being incredibly stupid and driving anyway. This time it cost my brother's life. My legs fell out from under me as I started to scream. "I want him prosecuted! This is his fault! it's not fair!" My mom was trying to be gentle "Eye, no, no..." I looked past her shoulder to see our pastor standing there. I was shaking with rage and pain and asked how I was supposed to ever forgive that.
I will never forget his words. "Right now you don't. Right now you grieve. Right now you feel, and forgiveness will come later."
Later there was a slight misunderstanding and my nine year old sister thought we were unable to afford a casket for my brother. She returned from her room with an envelope, her unspent allowance of a dollar and a note saying it was for mom so we could get a casket. My mother clung to my sister and the shards of my shattered heart broke even more and I fled to the room I still had at my mother's house. I threw myself on the bed and cried until there were no more tears, and then I sobbed some more. I cried out to God saying I didn't understand. Why, why, why whywhwywhwywhy....and I felt a strong pair of arms encircle me. I opened my eyes expecting to see my dad...but I was alone in that room. I still felt the arms. God had not abandoned me. And while I may never understand why my brother had to die, I understand that I was never alone, even hiding in that room crying myself into dehydration.
The next days were a blur of preparations for the wake and funeral, countless agonizing calls to let people who shouldn't have to read it in a paper know the tragic news, then finally the funeral and burial. I stood there in that cemetery watching the casket be lowered into the ground thinking at any moment someone would pop out and tell us it had all been a cruel joke and my brother was fine.
For most of the world, business as usual resumed the next day. I felt like it was a betrayal. What, we bury him then forget him? After that, I started to notice changes in the people around me. It was as if this death had finally woken some up - the things my brother had shared with his friends, inviting them to church....it clicked and hearts softened and opened to the possibility that maybe they really did need to believe this God stuff. As for me, the thought of Heaven comforted me and I slowly started walking back to my real path from my selfish detour.
Over the next few months, much changed in my life, my eyes were opened to the life I was living and how wrong it was...I faced new heartaches, but with them came such a freedom. I was back.
I'm not saying I've never slipped back into selfishness and my own way because I'd be lying.
I'd love to tell you how I found the straight and narrow and I've never strayed from the path again. I'd love to tell you how perfect life is....but again...I'd be lying.
My path is more winding than straight. And there are days when I stop and sit under a tree instead of walking. But, the important thing is, I woke up. I realized I need to be on that path and talking isn't enough. I need not only to believe, I need to understand WHY I believe.
Do you believe? Do you know why? Do you know what to do with it?
I could sit here and write for hours about all I believe and why....and maybe you'd find it inspirational. Maybe it'd move you to pray, but I fear it would only provoke an emotional response.
You see, I've learned that a lot of times it's emotions that put us on that high, but it can never be sustained. We attend a good service, we read something profound...it fuels us for a few days but it's not sustained because it's kind of like a contact high. It's not until we can sit there, staring in a mirror knowing I, myself, me, I am a sinner. I deserve the wages of my sin. I don't deserve grace but somehow God showed me mercy. His love for me is so great that He was willing to let his only son go into a world that was doomed, to be mocked. hated. spit on. tortured. Until we face the reality of what happened, pick it apart and find the personal aspect, we cannot know that we believe, much less why.
I'd grown up in a Christian home. I went to church every Sunday, even many Wednesdays. I went to AWANA. I memorized scripture, I accepted Christ personally. I was baptized. I sang the hymns, I prayed, I knew God wanted me to be good. I knew that I needed to live a life pleasing to Him. This was just a given. It was the life I knew. I primarily went to Christian schools, with only two years in a public school system. The first time, the culture shock was astounding. I couldn't believe the language I was hearing in open hallways. And none of the teachers said anything about it. That was the first crack in my shiny bubble.
The next crack surprisingly occurred in a Christian school setting...I learned that I could easily convince my parents I was at a sanctioned activity but be off doing whatever I wanted. That was a big crack. The kind of crack that makes you wonder if your parents really knew what they were talking about.
I still held to my faith, but I wasn't as diligent about it.
Fast forward a few years. I'm a bright shiny freshman in college, having graduated high school a year early I feel I have a bit to prove to the professors as I sit in class, feverishly taking notes and wondering how tests work in college and marveling at the "attendance policies." It was official. I was "grown up" and it was on me to decide if I'd learn or fail.
I had my goals. I would attend a community college, transfer into the local four year school, and then go on to law school. I would become a brilliant lawyer. My mother joked that it was so I could bang on tables and yell objection. I worked carefully with a transfer counselor to make sure not one hour of classes would be wasted. I knew that I would graduate with an Associates Degree in Applied Sciences, then go on to get my Bachelor of Arts with a concentration in Philosophy/Pre-Law. It was a perfect plan. I loved my Philosophy classes. Looking back, I think it's because that's when the rest of the bubble shattered and I realized that I couldn't just believe because I was told to. I couldn't just ride on the coattails of my parents' faith forever. I had to make it real.
Make it real? What does that even mean? As a teen I attended a few "Acquire the Fire" events. They were amazing. If you didn't leave without rededicating your life to God you clearly weren't paying attention. At the end of every prayer we were led in, the teacher would say "now, make it real." He meant to take his words and mull them over. Decide if we meant it and if we did, tell God so. It took me years to figure that out.
I was sitting in my very first Philosophy class, shiny brand new textbooks next to me, fresh notebook and pen. I was ready to learn. I was also a bit excited about the
What I believe? Didn't I just tell them? Maybe I didn't....that forced me to take a hard look at my life, my walk, my faith and decide if it really was mine or if I was just being obedient to my parents. (we'll just focus on the whole obedience thing in the aspect of reading my Bible, praying and going to church and not get into the whole I was an invincible 16 year old....)
I remember sitting in that classroom, fighting passionately for what I believe and it hit me. I do believe. I believe with every fiber of my being that God sent his son to this world, that He created the world that he sent his son into, knowing full well Jesus would be mocked, scorned, even hated and tortured.
I always knew it was a huge sacrifice. I got a better picture of it when I became a parent. The first time I had to take my daughter to the emergency room - they wrapped her in tight swaddling blankets to try to put an IV in her dehydrated little hand and she looked to me, screaming as if she was saying "mommy how could you let them do this to me?" I think I cried almost as much as she did. There I was knowing she had to go through this, and that I could not take her pain away. I had to stand there and watch my baby be poked over and over until they were finally able to get her IV in to give her restoring fluids and help her tiny sick body start to heal.
Funny the lessons God teaches through my daughter, but we'll get back to that another time.
I walked out of that Philosophy class floating on air and feeling a new passion for Christ. For the first time in my 17 years I KNEW exactly what I believed. That fueled me for a few more years and then I began to listen to the world around me...and slowly I let myself be led away...never all the way. I knew I still loved God, but I was too busy for church some Sundays. And reading my Bible could wait. I'd realize the place I was in and cry and repent but eventually I'd end up right back in that place again. I couldn't change until I was willing to change everything and it's entirely possible I have a touch of a stubborn streak (mom stop laughing.)
There I was, 21 years old, not really understanding how unhappy I was, but thinking "this is my life. I just need to live it." I was sound asleep on March 16, 2002. It was just before 7 in the morning and the phone rang. I rolled over toward it but decided to let my dad answer it. I'm glad I did. The caller was my step-grandfather. He had the news that would forever alter my young life. I still remember the pink flowered pajamas I was wearing as my dad came in the room. He sat down on my bed and looked at me as if the words were causing him pain. I said "what?" he just looked at me. I started to cry "what daddy, what's wrong?" His next words knocked all the air out of me. "[your brother] was killed in a car accident."
I instantly ranged every emotion thinking he had to be wrong. He had to have it wrong. The wrong person. It's a common name...I went from it can't be to oh no to I can't breathe in seconds. He told me he was going to see my mother and I could come if I wanted to. I tried to think. I had plans for the day, but they needed to be cancelled. I made the two calls I needed to and put on a black turtleneck with Michael Jordan's number on it...borrowed from my brother's closet years before and never returned. In a haze I walked to the driveway and it hit me and I started to violently throw up.
Family friends arrived, crying and saying they couldn't just stay home when we were going through this. They clung to us, they prayed with us, they cried with us. Dad and I drove in silence, save for my sniffles and sobs. My brother was living in a fairly large city at the time, and I had assumed something had happened on a highway in his Mustang. We drove past the church I was attending, and I realized a truck was being pulled up the embankment, a truck with the top cut open and one of my brother's closest friends looked up with a tear-stained face as we drove past. I pressed my hand to the glass as if I could reach out and comfort him. I remember gasping and asking my dad if that was where it had happened. He said he didn't know what happened, only that it had happened.
We pulled into my mother's driveway, and I saw her through the window. She looked out and saw me and drew in a huge breath. She pushed away all of the people near the door so that she could be the first to greet me. She was wearing a yellow Old Navy fleece with blue letters. A single tear was on her right cheek. She hugged me and I asked "what happened?" She did a good job of keeping a semi steady voice as she quietly told me [driver] was driving. My breath drew in so sharp it hurt. "Was he drunk?" She couldn't speak, she only nodded.
You see, I knew this guy. We grew up with him. He was infamous for drinking, doing drugs and being incredibly stupid and driving anyway. This time it cost my brother's life. My legs fell out from under me as I started to scream. "I want him prosecuted! This is his fault! it's not fair!" My mom was trying to be gentle "Eye, no, no..." I looked past her shoulder to see our pastor standing there. I was shaking with rage and pain and asked how I was supposed to ever forgive that.
I will never forget his words. "Right now you don't. Right now you grieve. Right now you feel, and forgiveness will come later."
Later there was a slight misunderstanding and my nine year old sister thought we were unable to afford a casket for my brother. She returned from her room with an envelope, her unspent allowance of a dollar and a note saying it was for mom so we could get a casket. My mother clung to my sister and the shards of my shattered heart broke even more and I fled to the room I still had at my mother's house. I threw myself on the bed and cried until there were no more tears, and then I sobbed some more. I cried out to God saying I didn't understand. Why, why, why whywhwywhwywhy....and I felt a strong pair of arms encircle me. I opened my eyes expecting to see my dad...but I was alone in that room. I still felt the arms. God had not abandoned me. And while I may never understand why my brother had to die, I understand that I was never alone, even hiding in that room crying myself into dehydration.
The next days were a blur of preparations for the wake and funeral, countless agonizing calls to let people who shouldn't have to read it in a paper know the tragic news, then finally the funeral and burial. I stood there in that cemetery watching the casket be lowered into the ground thinking at any moment someone would pop out and tell us it had all been a cruel joke and my brother was fine.
For most of the world, business as usual resumed the next day. I felt like it was a betrayal. What, we bury him then forget him? After that, I started to notice changes in the people around me. It was as if this death had finally woken some up - the things my brother had shared with his friends, inviting them to church....it clicked and hearts softened and opened to the possibility that maybe they really did need to believe this God stuff. As for me, the thought of Heaven comforted me and I slowly started walking back to my real path from my selfish detour.
Over the next few months, much changed in my life, my eyes were opened to the life I was living and how wrong it was...I faced new heartaches, but with them came such a freedom. I was back.
I'm not saying I've never slipped back into selfishness and my own way because I'd be lying.
I'd love to tell you how I found the straight and narrow and I've never strayed from the path again. I'd love to tell you how perfect life is....but again...I'd be lying.
My path is more winding than straight. And there are days when I stop and sit under a tree instead of walking. But, the important thing is, I woke up. I realized I need to be on that path and talking isn't enough. I need not only to believe, I need to understand WHY I believe.
Do you believe? Do you know why? Do you know what to do with it?
I could sit here and write for hours about all I believe and why....and maybe you'd find it inspirational. Maybe it'd move you to pray, but I fear it would only provoke an emotional response.
You see, I've learned that a lot of times it's emotions that put us on that high, but it can never be sustained. We attend a good service, we read something profound...it fuels us for a few days but it's not sustained because it's kind of like a contact high. It's not until we can sit there, staring in a mirror knowing I, myself, me, I am a sinner. I deserve the wages of my sin. I don't deserve grace but somehow God showed me mercy. His love for me is so great that He was willing to let his only son go into a world that was doomed, to be mocked. hated. spit on. tortured. Until we face the reality of what happened, pick it apart and find the personal aspect, we cannot know that we believe, much less why.
Tuesday, April 07, 2015
The bottom of the coffee cup IS the problem....
I've heard it said that I won't find answers in the bottom of a coffee cup. I say "I know. The bottom of the coffee cup is the problem. Clearly I need more coffee.
I like coffee.
It's not a secret. Anyone who spends more than a few hours with me knows I enjoy that dark steamy brew. I'll drink it iced on a hot day, but there is just something about that first sip of hot dark coffee that soothes me to my core.
Generally all you need to do is pour the coffee into a drinking vessel and hand it to me. Sure, I like to add flavored stuff from time to time, but when it comes to just sitting down and drinking a cup of coffee, make it black.
I've shared in discussions about how hard it can be to get a cup of plain black coffee.
It usually goes something like this (and for purposes of this "S" is whoever I'm getting the coffee from...server, drive thru window, etc.)
S: What would you like to drink?
Me: Black coffee, please.
S: Would you like anything in that?
Me: No thank you.
S: Cream or Sugar?
Me: No thank you, just black coffee.
S: So nothing?
Me: That's right, just the coffee.
...I went to a local chain, famous for their coffee and due to the late hour, ordered my iced black coffee as decaf. We went through the usual confusion about how I just needed coffee...and the employee says "I don't think we can do that." Perfectly serious. I had to clamp my lips together to keep from laughing. I did my best to be polite in telling him that he really could. He got his manager who gave him the look I was trying hard not to. The "how on earth are you actually working in a coffee shop??" She patiently told him to fill a cup with ice, pour decaf coffee over it and give it to me.
There's a comedian who talks about trying to order a cup of black coffee. "How would you like that, sir?" "um....can you put it in a cup?"
Once upon a time I wrote for my college newspaper. I wrote an article on complicated simplicity.
It's part of the human condition. We take the simplest of concepts and do our best to make them as complicated as possible. Anyone who knows me knows I can quote movies on command, will often use movie quotes in every day conversation and I think that's not only just fine, but also a bit of a talent.
In "You've Got Mail" (Warner Brothers 1998) Tom Hanks' character is emailing Meg Ryan's character and talking about coffee shops.
Joe Fox says: The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the [heck] they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.
Now don't get me wrong, I love me a venti soy quad shot caramel macchiato with whip....but it has its place.
I realized that life can really be compared to coffee. No really, it's not the Italian roast talking. Hear me out.
Life could be simple. A mug of hot black coffee on a sunny porch, watching people walk their dogs. Life has special occasions - there's my six decision cup of coffee right there - but it is only as complicated as I want it to be. I could wander in to a coffee shop and say "a mug of coffee please."
I could go in texting on my cell phone, while chatting through my blue tooth, act annoyed that the server DARED to interrupt my conversation by *gasp!* doing their job and asking what I would like. I could ignore the line of people behind me, and hem and haw over the menu, ask what each thing contains, ask for numerous substitutions to suit my mood then tap my fingernails on the glass until they bring me the cup of coffee...then change my mind about the whipped cream and could they fix this that and the other thing.
....where is she going with this? those people are awful. I've been behind them and all I wanted was a cup of black coffee and a slice of pumpkin loaf....
Bear with me. I'm getting there.
At our house we've got a bit of a routine. Bug gets up at an awful early hour and gets ready for work, if Bean has decided she needs to be awake too he gives her a drink, helps her to the potty and puts her back to bed reminding her that it's way too early to be awake...he comes in and kisses me goodbye before he leaves for work and I drift back to sleep until Bean realizes it's daylight and she can't possibly stay asleep another moment. (P.S. Thanks Frozen, for teaching my daughter to try to pry my eyelids open and ask if I'd like to build a snowman...)
We get up. I turn on the Keurig, get Bean something to eat and a drink and set her up with her breakfast tray and her quiet time supplies - usually a book in the morning. I brew my coffee, climb back into bed and open my Bible.
I am so not a morning person. (hey! I can hear that sarcastic "no really?") "No talkie before coffee" is a delightful motto. I need to wake up slowly. When I had an office job, I often was at work at least an hour before I needed to be. Drink my coffee, read, slowly wake up and get to the point where I could be a polite sociable member of society.
I gave birth to the perkiest morning person ever. She wakes up and it's LET'S PLAY! THE SUN IS UP! WEEE FUN TIME! and yet...if she isn't given her quiet time to ease into her day, in just a couple short hours she's crankier than mommy on decaf after no sleep.
So we have quiet time. I sip my hot coffee, I read my Bible. I start my day soaking in God's promises. I pray for my husband, my family, my friends, needs I've seen posted in prayer groups, texted to me, emailed...I pray. Sometimes quiet time doesn't last for long because a three year old's attention span isn't the best and did you know yogurt is oh so fun to finger paint with all over your breakfast tray?
Sometimes I get to finish my coffee while it's hot. Sometimes I reheat it and sometimes I just drink it cold because there's no time for a microwave.
I've said many many many times before and I will probably say it at least as many again. I don't have a religion. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ. And there's a lot of times I complicate it far more than I need to. It can be as simple as "just pour the coffee into a mug." I can sit down, open my Bible and pray and say "pour into me, God" and listen for an answer; wait for his peace to flood me. I can also sit there and argue and yell at God why my way is better, and how He should answer my prayers and....just plain not realize how silly it is to think that the creator of the universe needs my help in knowing what is best for me.
He has brought me through countless trials, carried me through the darkest days of my life, unspeakable pain...and never left my side. And here I am telling Him that He "has" to do it this way. Boy, I can be arrogant. There's many times I look at my daughter and tell her "trust me, I know what I'm talking about and if you'd just listen to me you could avoid this trouble."
I wonder if God laughs at me when I say that. I wonder how many times a day He shakes His head at me. I've taken the simple and made it as complicated as I possibly can. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 ESV
So today, I pour a cup of hot black coffee into a mug, and I sit and I wait. I tell God what's going on that has me stressed and worried. I ask Him to help me with it...and here's the tricky part...I have to let go.
Think about a child asking for help with a toy; or a dog wanting to play fetch if you don't have many dealings with kids. They bring you the toy, "help me please" or *wags tail with ball in mouth* "Ok, give it to me and I can." But they won't. let. go. You'd like nothing more than to flip that little switch on the bottom of the toy so it works right, or toss that ball....but you can't do a thing until it's in your hands.
I guess there's a little bit of a three year old in all of us.
There's a book I love, Blue Like Jazz. In it, Donald Miller is discussing his mental wall between religion and God. He says "It was something like a slot machine, a set of spinning images that doled out rewards based on behavior and, perhaps, chance." (Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller, July 2003)
I've done that. Gone about my life, and as long as life was good, why on earth would I take precious time out of my day to sit and read my Bible or pray? But then something would happen and I'd find myself handing my daughter off to my husband and heading off to a closed room to cry and pray and demand to know why such things were allowed to happen to me. I'd in effect, pull the lever of the slot machine, and be mad that the machine ate my quarter.
It's not a religion. It's a relationship. Could you imagine if you treated your spouse that way? Come home, not say anything, go about your routine and only talk to them when you wanted something? My guess is you'd not have a spouse for long. But the beautiful thing about God is that He's patient. He's listening. And most importantly, He's constant and doesn't respond like humans.
So, today I invite you to pour a cup of coffee and take a quiet moment and ask God to pour into your soul.
Cheers
I like coffee.
It's not a secret. Anyone who spends more than a few hours with me knows I enjoy that dark steamy brew. I'll drink it iced on a hot day, but there is just something about that first sip of hot dark coffee that soothes me to my core.
Generally all you need to do is pour the coffee into a drinking vessel and hand it to me. Sure, I like to add flavored stuff from time to time, but when it comes to just sitting down and drinking a cup of coffee, make it black.
I've shared in discussions about how hard it can be to get a cup of plain black coffee.
It usually goes something like this (and for purposes of this "S" is whoever I'm getting the coffee from...server, drive thru window, etc.)
S: What would you like to drink?
Me: Black coffee, please.
S: Would you like anything in that?
Me: No thank you.
S: Cream or Sugar?
Me: No thank you, just black coffee.
S: So nothing?
Me: That's right, just the coffee.
...I went to a local chain, famous for their coffee and due to the late hour, ordered my iced black coffee as decaf. We went through the usual confusion about how I just needed coffee...and the employee says "I don't think we can do that." Perfectly serious. I had to clamp my lips together to keep from laughing. I did my best to be polite in telling him that he really could. He got his manager who gave him the look I was trying hard not to. The "how on earth are you actually working in a coffee shop??" She patiently told him to fill a cup with ice, pour decaf coffee over it and give it to me.
There's a comedian who talks about trying to order a cup of black coffee. "How would you like that, sir?" "um....can you put it in a cup?"
Once upon a time I wrote for my college newspaper. I wrote an article on complicated simplicity.
It's part of the human condition. We take the simplest of concepts and do our best to make them as complicated as possible. Anyone who knows me knows I can quote movies on command, will often use movie quotes in every day conversation and I think that's not only just fine, but also a bit of a talent.
In "You've Got Mail" (Warner Brothers 1998) Tom Hanks' character is emailing Meg Ryan's character and talking about coffee shops.
Joe Fox says: The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the [heck] they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.
Now don't get me wrong, I love me a venti soy quad shot caramel macchiato with whip....but it has its place.
I realized that life can really be compared to coffee. No really, it's not the Italian roast talking. Hear me out.
Life could be simple. A mug of hot black coffee on a sunny porch, watching people walk their dogs. Life has special occasions - there's my six decision cup of coffee right there - but it is only as complicated as I want it to be. I could wander in to a coffee shop and say "a mug of coffee please."
I could go in texting on my cell phone, while chatting through my blue tooth, act annoyed that the server DARED to interrupt my conversation by *gasp!* doing their job and asking what I would like. I could ignore the line of people behind me, and hem and haw over the menu, ask what each thing contains, ask for numerous substitutions to suit my mood then tap my fingernails on the glass until they bring me the cup of coffee...then change my mind about the whipped cream and could they fix this that and the other thing.
....where is she going with this? those people are awful. I've been behind them and all I wanted was a cup of black coffee and a slice of pumpkin loaf....
Bear with me. I'm getting there.
At our house we've got a bit of a routine. Bug gets up at an awful early hour and gets ready for work, if Bean has decided she needs to be awake too he gives her a drink, helps her to the potty and puts her back to bed reminding her that it's way too early to be awake...he comes in and kisses me goodbye before he leaves for work and I drift back to sleep until Bean realizes it's daylight and she can't possibly stay asleep another moment. (P.S. Thanks Frozen, for teaching my daughter to try to pry my eyelids open and ask if I'd like to build a snowman...)
We get up. I turn on the Keurig, get Bean something to eat and a drink and set her up with her breakfast tray and her quiet time supplies - usually a book in the morning. I brew my coffee, climb back into bed and open my Bible.
I am so not a morning person. (hey! I can hear that sarcastic "no really?") "No talkie before coffee" is a delightful motto. I need to wake up slowly. When I had an office job, I often was at work at least an hour before I needed to be. Drink my coffee, read, slowly wake up and get to the point where I could be a polite sociable member of society.
I gave birth to the perkiest morning person ever. She wakes up and it's LET'S PLAY! THE SUN IS UP! WEEE FUN TIME! and yet...if she isn't given her quiet time to ease into her day, in just a couple short hours she's crankier than mommy on decaf after no sleep.
So we have quiet time. I sip my hot coffee, I read my Bible. I start my day soaking in God's promises. I pray for my husband, my family, my friends, needs I've seen posted in prayer groups, texted to me, emailed...I pray. Sometimes quiet time doesn't last for long because a three year old's attention span isn't the best and did you know yogurt is oh so fun to finger paint with all over your breakfast tray?
Sometimes I get to finish my coffee while it's hot. Sometimes I reheat it and sometimes I just drink it cold because there's no time for a microwave.
I've said many many many times before and I will probably say it at least as many again. I don't have a religion. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ. And there's a lot of times I complicate it far more than I need to. It can be as simple as "just pour the coffee into a mug." I can sit down, open my Bible and pray and say "pour into me, God" and listen for an answer; wait for his peace to flood me. I can also sit there and argue and yell at God why my way is better, and how He should answer my prayers and....just plain not realize how silly it is to think that the creator of the universe needs my help in knowing what is best for me.
He has brought me through countless trials, carried me through the darkest days of my life, unspeakable pain...and never left my side. And here I am telling Him that He "has" to do it this way. Boy, I can be arrogant. There's many times I look at my daughter and tell her "trust me, I know what I'm talking about and if you'd just listen to me you could avoid this trouble."
I wonder if God laughs at me when I say that. I wonder how many times a day He shakes His head at me. I've taken the simple and made it as complicated as I possibly can. Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 ESV
So today, I pour a cup of hot black coffee into a mug, and I sit and I wait. I tell God what's going on that has me stressed and worried. I ask Him to help me with it...and here's the tricky part...I have to let go.
Think about a child asking for help with a toy; or a dog wanting to play fetch if you don't have many dealings with kids. They bring you the toy, "help me please" or *wags tail with ball in mouth* "Ok, give it to me and I can." But they won't. let. go. You'd like nothing more than to flip that little switch on the bottom of the toy so it works right, or toss that ball....but you can't do a thing until it's in your hands.
I guess there's a little bit of a three year old in all of us.
There's a book I love, Blue Like Jazz. In it, Donald Miller is discussing his mental wall between religion and God. He says "It was something like a slot machine, a set of spinning images that doled out rewards based on behavior and, perhaps, chance." (Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller, July 2003)
I've done that. Gone about my life, and as long as life was good, why on earth would I take precious time out of my day to sit and read my Bible or pray? But then something would happen and I'd find myself handing my daughter off to my husband and heading off to a closed room to cry and pray and demand to know why such things were allowed to happen to me. I'd in effect, pull the lever of the slot machine, and be mad that the machine ate my quarter.
It's not a religion. It's a relationship. Could you imagine if you treated your spouse that way? Come home, not say anything, go about your routine and only talk to them when you wanted something? My guess is you'd not have a spouse for long. But the beautiful thing about God is that He's patient. He's listening. And most importantly, He's constant and doesn't respond like humans.
So, today I invite you to pour a cup of coffee and take a quiet moment and ask God to pour into your soul.
Cheers
Monday, June 03, 2013
Learning to stop and enjoy the mess.
I always swore I'd be an organized mom. My mother likes to remind me how I sat on my couch, hand on my VERY pregnant belly, looking around my sophisticated living room saying it would never be full of toys, and that my house would never look like it was taken over by a kid who just happened to have two adults living there too....
Anyone who has been to my home in the last year and a half.... please, tone your uproarious laughter to a giggle....
I now live in a giant toy box. My beautiful mauve and cream rug is now in my pantry and replaced by a bright alpha/numeric foam play mat. My chic black coffee table and end tables are in storage to make room for the rack of toys. My cream colored sofa is covered with sheets and my office went from a neatly organized den to our laptop on a tv tray in the living room. (Yeah, we aren't gonna talk about the comedy movie overstuffed closet of "where should this go" that the den has become).
There's a blue and bright green tent sitting next to my dining room table. I have a drawer in my kitchen devoted to toys Bean can safely get to and play with while I make dinner. I have an entire cupboard that is full of sippy cups, plastic plates and semi-toddler proof snack cups. I have locks on my toilet, fridge/freezer and cabinets. I run a swiffer vac daily...and find that I have to empty the collection chamber at least as often if not more.
Any given day, I can walk into my daughter's room and if she's awake, expect to see that she has removed all of the books from her shelf, and is happily sitting in the midst of them excitedly pointing out lions, princesses and even "Minnie Nouse!" This is why they are no longer put back on the shelf according to genre, size and author. I'm just thrilled that they make it to the shelf nightly...and sometimes even with little hands helping (wahoo she's learning)!
I have the theme songs to dozens of cartoony educational programs memorized and yes, I'm that mom that realizes baby went to bed 40 minutes ago, and I'm still pointing out what Sandman is creating in the sand.
My manicure lasts about 16 hours, and that's if I have time to put the topcoat on. Dishes may not get washed every day...heck, I may not even get a shower every day. There's a crate of toys on my bathroom floor and I've given up on the notion of ever going to the bathroom alone again for the next several years....
My morning routine has changed. Once upon a time, that meant sipping piping hot coffee while doing my hair in some professional style, applying light makeup before donning my suit or other dress clothes and adding the perfect shoes to my bag.
Now, it's a race to the keurig while finding some deoderant and putting my hair in a ponytail and tugging on some yoga pants. Although, I do see hope as we have progressed from thrice microwaved coffee to only once or twice now... So now, I try to get the coffee in me while Bean decides if she's going to eat her cereal bar or just rub it on her forehead then bring out the swiffer vac to dispatch with the sticky crumbs that I'd rather not glue themselves to the hardwood then we are off! I am a firm believer in independent play time every day - not just so mommy can have a moment to breathe, but I want Bean to develop her imagination, to learn that if she presses this button her kitchen set makes a new sound...it's important. It's also the time I sit back and write ceremonies, respond to inquiries and remember that my coffee is still in the microwave.
As she's getting to be more independent and verbal, Bean will bring me things while she's playing - her discoveries. She's figured out that her little plastic cups look a lot like mommy's coffee cup so she will bring me one, grinning ear to ear, and say "Hot coffee!" and hand it to me with pride. I delightfully sip the air from the cup and tell her it's delicious and don't so much worry that I have no idea where I left off on whatever task I was doing. Soon, it will be nap time, and I'll once again attempt to locate the living room floor.
BUT
you know what? My kid is happy. She's healthy, and it doesn't so much matter that I barely got the swiffer vac run today before she had her toy bin empty again. She says please, thank you and bless you. She understands "inside voice please" and yeah, she doesn't sleep the greatest....but she'll run over to me, announce "come see me!" and after I pick her up, rest her little head on my chest and say "snuggle mommy. snuggle mommy" and in that moment, I am again reminded how incredibly blessed I am to have this tiny person in my life and that God saw fit to give her to us.
YES. I firmly believe that children do need to behave in public, but I don't think that means that they can't get excited because there's a fish tank the the doctor's waiting room...or they can't decide they'd rather not try the fork today because really, who eats chicken nuggets with a fork? Yes, Bean is to the age where she knows there's no screaming in the store, and that she cannot hit, and she is learning to share....
But now, I'm learning that there are much more important things than my home looking perfect, or being able to carry on a whole conversation in a restaurant without once stopping to say "color on the paper, not the table sweetheart."
Many know my wonderful husband made it possible for me to be a stay home mom and it has made me realize how incredibly and truly blessed we are. I know there are many women who wish they had crayon to clean off of the floor and baby fingerprints on the flatscreen tv that needs to be surrounded by a safety gate lest the dvd player end up with a slice of ham in it. And my heart goes out to those women, and I utter a prayer that God would give them their desires, through pregnancy or adoption.
God's constantly working on me, and yeah, I'd say I've come a long way, but I know He's nowhere near finished with me. I'm learning to see His hand in the many situations in my life, good and not so good. I'm learning to be thankful for the block I stepped on in the dark because it means my daughter had fun playing with them today. I'm learning to treasure that 3 a.m. "mommy! snuggle mommy! rocka rocka! MOOOOOMMMMYYYY I NEED MY MOOOOMMMMYYY!" call that still occasionally rings out, because she's going to decide one day she's too big for snuggling up with mommy. (Yes, I will cry that day.)
And if I can count blessings when I haven't slept all night, am rocking my girl as she pokes my nose and identifies my hair and ears and kicks my ribs or as I clean up the juice she figured out how to get from her sippy cup to her toy frying pan or even as I clean up the wet footprints on the bathroom floor because she decided to stand IN her potty after filling it....
Then I should be able to count blessings in many other aspects of my life.
Funny, this post started out as a quick comment on a post about not apologizing for kids being...well...kids. Then it turned into a blog about how I've learned that it's ok if my daughter isn't silent at Red Robin or that my house is a toy box. And finally it turned into me finally being quiet long enough to hear what God has been trying to say to me - It's ok that you're living in a bit of a mess at times. It's ok that things aren't going exactly as you planned them. I know where all the pieces of the puzzle are and I have GOT YOU. I am blessing you in so many ways, and I will supply all your needs, so please stop worrying.
Well.
My microwave has been flashing "end" for about an hour now, maybe that's where my coffee is. I think it may be time to retrieve it, remind Bean that nap time really does mean sleep, then stare at my greatest blessing for a while, and marvel again at how she teaches me as much if not more than I teach her.
Anyone who has been to my home in the last year and a half.... please, tone your uproarious laughter to a giggle....
I now live in a giant toy box. My beautiful mauve and cream rug is now in my pantry and replaced by a bright alpha/numeric foam play mat. My chic black coffee table and end tables are in storage to make room for the rack of toys. My cream colored sofa is covered with sheets and my office went from a neatly organized den to our laptop on a tv tray in the living room. (Yeah, we aren't gonna talk about the comedy movie overstuffed closet of "where should this go" that the den has become).
There's a blue and bright green tent sitting next to my dining room table. I have a drawer in my kitchen devoted to toys Bean can safely get to and play with while I make dinner. I have an entire cupboard that is full of sippy cups, plastic plates and semi-toddler proof snack cups. I have locks on my toilet, fridge/freezer and cabinets. I run a swiffer vac daily...and find that I have to empty the collection chamber at least as often if not more.
Any given day, I can walk into my daughter's room and if she's awake, expect to see that she has removed all of the books from her shelf, and is happily sitting in the midst of them excitedly pointing out lions, princesses and even "Minnie Nouse!" This is why they are no longer put back on the shelf according to genre, size and author. I'm just thrilled that they make it to the shelf nightly...and sometimes even with little hands helping (wahoo she's learning)!
I have the theme songs to dozens of cartoony educational programs memorized and yes, I'm that mom that realizes baby went to bed 40 minutes ago, and I'm still pointing out what Sandman is creating in the sand.
My manicure lasts about 16 hours, and that's if I have time to put the topcoat on. Dishes may not get washed every day...heck, I may not even get a shower every day. There's a crate of toys on my bathroom floor and I've given up on the notion of ever going to the bathroom alone again for the next several years....
My morning routine has changed. Once upon a time, that meant sipping piping hot coffee while doing my hair in some professional style, applying light makeup before donning my suit or other dress clothes and adding the perfect shoes to my bag.
Now, it's a race to the keurig while finding some deoderant and putting my hair in a ponytail and tugging on some yoga pants. Although, I do see hope as we have progressed from thrice microwaved coffee to only once or twice now... So now, I try to get the coffee in me while Bean decides if she's going to eat her cereal bar or just rub it on her forehead then bring out the swiffer vac to dispatch with the sticky crumbs that I'd rather not glue themselves to the hardwood then we are off! I am a firm believer in independent play time every day - not just so mommy can have a moment to breathe, but I want Bean to develop her imagination, to learn that if she presses this button her kitchen set makes a new sound...it's important. It's also the time I sit back and write ceremonies, respond to inquiries and remember that my coffee is still in the microwave.
As she's getting to be more independent and verbal, Bean will bring me things while she's playing - her discoveries. She's figured out that her little plastic cups look a lot like mommy's coffee cup so she will bring me one, grinning ear to ear, and say "Hot coffee!" and hand it to me with pride. I delightfully sip the air from the cup and tell her it's delicious and don't so much worry that I have no idea where I left off on whatever task I was doing. Soon, it will be nap time, and I'll once again attempt to locate the living room floor.
BUT
you know what? My kid is happy. She's healthy, and it doesn't so much matter that I barely got the swiffer vac run today before she had her toy bin empty again. She says please, thank you and bless you. She understands "inside voice please" and yeah, she doesn't sleep the greatest....but she'll run over to me, announce "come see me!" and after I pick her up, rest her little head on my chest and say "snuggle mommy. snuggle mommy" and in that moment, I am again reminded how incredibly blessed I am to have this tiny person in my life and that God saw fit to give her to us.
YES. I firmly believe that children do need to behave in public, but I don't think that means that they can't get excited because there's a fish tank the the doctor's waiting room...or they can't decide they'd rather not try the fork today because really, who eats chicken nuggets with a fork? Yes, Bean is to the age where she knows there's no screaming in the store, and that she cannot hit, and she is learning to share....
But now, I'm learning that there are much more important things than my home looking perfect, or being able to carry on a whole conversation in a restaurant without once stopping to say "color on the paper, not the table sweetheart."
Many know my wonderful husband made it possible for me to be a stay home mom and it has made me realize how incredibly and truly blessed we are. I know there are many women who wish they had crayon to clean off of the floor and baby fingerprints on the flatscreen tv that needs to be surrounded by a safety gate lest the dvd player end up with a slice of ham in it. And my heart goes out to those women, and I utter a prayer that God would give them their desires, through pregnancy or adoption.
God's constantly working on me, and yeah, I'd say I've come a long way, but I know He's nowhere near finished with me. I'm learning to see His hand in the many situations in my life, good and not so good. I'm learning to be thankful for the block I stepped on in the dark because it means my daughter had fun playing with them today. I'm learning to treasure that 3 a.m. "mommy! snuggle mommy! rocka rocka! MOOOOOMMMMYYYY I NEED MY MOOOOMMMMYYY!" call that still occasionally rings out, because she's going to decide one day she's too big for snuggling up with mommy. (Yes, I will cry that day.)
And if I can count blessings when I haven't slept all night, am rocking my girl as she pokes my nose and identifies my hair and ears and kicks my ribs or as I clean up the juice she figured out how to get from her sippy cup to her toy frying pan or even as I clean up the wet footprints on the bathroom floor because she decided to stand IN her potty after filling it....
Then I should be able to count blessings in many other aspects of my life.
Funny, this post started out as a quick comment on a post about not apologizing for kids being...well...kids. Then it turned into a blog about how I've learned that it's ok if my daughter isn't silent at Red Robin or that my house is a toy box. And finally it turned into me finally being quiet long enough to hear what God has been trying to say to me - It's ok that you're living in a bit of a mess at times. It's ok that things aren't going exactly as you planned them. I know where all the pieces of the puzzle are and I have GOT YOU. I am blessing you in so many ways, and I will supply all your needs, so please stop worrying.
Well.
My microwave has been flashing "end" for about an hour now, maybe that's where my coffee is. I think it may be time to retrieve it, remind Bean that nap time really does mean sleep, then stare at my greatest blessing for a while, and marvel again at how she teaches me as much if not more than I teach her.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Three Years...
I remember it so clearly...all ready in my dress, my hair just right, my veil securely attached...I even remembered to move my engagement ring to my right hand so that my wedding band could go on first as it's supposed to....
My dad smiled at me, told me that I looked beautiful and the doors opened - and there he stood...I know there were people there as I walked down the aisle but all I saw was a beautiful smile waiting for me at the altar...and I resisted the urge to run....
Three years ago today, I married my best friend and began on such an incredible journey. Every day brings something new, a new joy, maybe a new sorrow, but we've dealt with them all together....this anniversary feels a little more special to me as I feel a little girl dancing around in my belly - as if to say she's happy he picked me too...
In just a few weeks our little family will expand to three and it's hard to imagine our joy being greater than it already is with the two of us and I am overwhelmed by God's amazing blessings.
Bug, I love you so much. I am honored that you picked me to be your wife, and I am blessed that God is giving us a child, and my heart overflows with joy for what is happening in our lives.
We've listened to the words of "our" song...and whether times are good or bad or happy or sad...we've stuck together and just let those things make us stronger.
I love the man that you are, the Godly leader, my best friend and confidant, supporting and guiding - you are amazing and I have no doubts that you are going to be an equally amazing father.
Happy Anniversary, Bug!
My dad smiled at me, told me that I looked beautiful and the doors opened - and there he stood...I know there were people there as I walked down the aisle but all I saw was a beautiful smile waiting for me at the altar...and I resisted the urge to run....
Three years ago today, I married my best friend and began on such an incredible journey. Every day brings something new, a new joy, maybe a new sorrow, but we've dealt with them all together....this anniversary feels a little more special to me as I feel a little girl dancing around in my belly - as if to say she's happy he picked me too...
In just a few weeks our little family will expand to three and it's hard to imagine our joy being greater than it already is with the two of us and I am overwhelmed by God's amazing blessings.
Bug, I love you so much. I am honored that you picked me to be your wife, and I am blessed that God is giving us a child, and my heart overflows with joy for what is happening in our lives.
We've listened to the words of "our" song...and whether times are good or bad or happy or sad...we've stuck together and just let those things make us stronger.
I love the man that you are, the Godly leader, my best friend and confidant, supporting and guiding - you are amazing and I have no doubts that you are going to be an equally amazing father.
Happy Anniversary, Bug!
Monday, October 11, 2010
*smack*
Yup. that was the sound of the 2x4 gently hitting me last week as I listened to this song.
I was singing along and wondering who is dumb enough to fight the hands....and realized...well...I am.
You'd think I wouldn't need a 2x4 for that concept but today it seemed like a 4x4 might even have been necessary.......it's subtle how we fight the hands....the coping mechanisms we invent rather than turning to prayer....the curse that slips out of our mouths in frustration rather than taking a breath and remembering to do all things as unto God.....hmm....anyway....listen to the song and I hope you aren't fighting the hands....
and in case the link doesn't play nice....
By Your Side Lyrics Tenth Avenue North
Why are you striving these days
Why are you trying to earn grace
Why are you crying
Let me lift up your face
Just don't turn away
Why are you looking for love
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough
To where will you go child
Tell me where will you run
To where will you runAnd I'll be by your side
Wherever you fall
In the dead of night
Whenever you call
And please don't fight
These hands that are holding you
My hands are holding you
Look at these hands and my side
They swallowed the grave on that night
When I drank the world's sin
So I could carry you in
And give you life
I want to give you life
Cause I, I love you
I want you to know
That I, I love you
I'll never let you go
Friday, September 10, 2010
tired...but apparently not sleepy....
It's after one a.m. and I'm still wide awake...the pain is pretty intense tonight and of course, tonight the painkiller just isn't helping. Back to the doctor tomorrow to have the stitches out and to find out what our plan is....I'm a little anxious because I feel like I've taken a few steps back - I'm back to feeling like if I don't hold my belly while I walk my insides will fall out...and there's this pulling pain if I try to take a full step....*sigh* maybe I pushed too hard when I thought I felt better? I dunno...but I made a list of questions/concerns for the doctor when I see him tomorrow....(side note for those that are going "wait, she had surgery?" I had a blinding searing pain in my side and abdomen that was pretty much undiagnosable by conventional means...an abundance of doctors, tests, a couple of trips to the er....nothing showed why I was in such pain, so I ended up undergoing an exploratory laporoscopy where they discovered some "female issues" and resolved the resolvable and we're figuring out a plan for the other...I'll be ok...just a little bit of a road ahead of me - but by the grace of God, I can still have kids!)
I'm trying so hard to "be anxious for nothing but in all things present my needs to God" in this. I'm anxious because I'm afraid that the setback means more is wrong or I'm not as OK as I thought or maybe I really set myself back and injured something thinking I was in better shape than I am....
I praise God for the great news that we will be able to have children. That was my biggest fear in all of this...that I had missed my chance....but God is good, knows my heart and protected that aspect. Which, the logical mind would say, is all the more reason to chill out.
Maybe it's the loneliness that comes from being shut in and unable to drive (this is the point where I send Internet hugs to those that have visited, sent cards, emails, facebook messages, food and the like to cheer me up - you have no idea how much that has all meant and I'd be even stir-crazier without your thoughtfulness). Maybe it's the lack of sleep...maybe it's the pain...maybe it's the fact that even though there is chocolate inches from me I don't feel like eating it... .....maybe it's everything rolled into one....but here I am at 1:22 in the morning, exhausted but not sleepy enough for my eyes to stay shut... and just throwing my feelings out into blogdom. I finally decided to get up so my husband could get some restful sleep as he does have to be up early tomorrow to make sure the boxes and parcels are delivered on time....so hopefully a blog to empty my head and a few hands of solitaire will sleepify me enough to keep the eyes closed.....
I'm trying so hard to "be anxious for nothing but in all things present my needs to God" in this. I'm anxious because I'm afraid that the setback means more is wrong or I'm not as OK as I thought or maybe I really set myself back and injured something thinking I was in better shape than I am....
I praise God for the great news that we will be able to have children. That was my biggest fear in all of this...that I had missed my chance....but God is good, knows my heart and protected that aspect. Which, the logical mind would say, is all the more reason to chill out.
Maybe it's the loneliness that comes from being shut in and unable to drive (this is the point where I send Internet hugs to those that have visited, sent cards, emails, facebook messages, food and the like to cheer me up - you have no idea how much that has all meant and I'd be even stir-crazier without your thoughtfulness). Maybe it's the lack of sleep...maybe it's the pain...maybe it's the fact that even though there is chocolate inches from me I don't feel like eating it... .....maybe it's everything rolled into one....but here I am at 1:22 in the morning, exhausted but not sleepy enough for my eyes to stay shut... and just throwing my feelings out into blogdom. I finally decided to get up so my husband could get some restful sleep as he does have to be up early tomorrow to make sure the boxes and parcels are delivered on time....so hopefully a blog to empty my head and a few hands of solitaire will sleepify me enough to keep the eyes closed.....
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
makes ya go "hrm"
Psalm 34:4-5:I sought the LORD, and He answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant, and their faces are never covered with shame.
Never ceases to amaze me how a little verse on a pink calendar on my desk can be so perfect for what I'm going through each day....
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
More calendar lessons
Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. ~Matthew 6:34 MSG Translation
dude....I don't even need to do the commentary thing for that one to sink into my brain and smack me around.
Monday, June 28, 2010
good stuff.
It never fails, when the stress is creeping back in after it's been banished, and I'm doing my best to remain calm and remember that I can do nothing, but God can do everything, something smacks me and makes me feel inferior....and then God....well....this verse was emailed to me this morning.
Now glory be to God, who by His mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream - infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, or hopes. Ephesians 3:20 TLB
How's that for divine timing?
We got the next round of assumption papers for the house and filled them in and sent them on to the potential buyer....please keep that in prayer! The bank said it takes approximately 30 days after they receive this round of paperwork to make a determination.....so I'm working on being patient and not being anxious but in all things making my requests known to God....
July is going to be a crazy busy month....the usual summer craziness, but in addition to that, K sister is graduating (yeah, I know, wasn't she just 5 and sitting in the HA cafeteria while my mom made cookies yesterday????)
Uncle R and Aunt N are coming for a visit and we've got some short travel planned for various things. We're hoping to be able to take a short getaway for our anniversary in August.
Things are looking more homey at the new place and it really doesn't resemble a cardboard fort at all anymore - just a handful of boxes waiting for us to figure out which shelves and pictures are going where....then I get to work on a fun project....going through the digital camera and printing my favs and FINALLY putting the pics in the gorgeous collage frame we got from N Bro.
N bro & his wife are doing very well - baby girl should be here in August and momma is doing great. we have their shower in July too....
Well...that's about it for updates and good words....off to the grind for me
Now glory be to God, who by His mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream - infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, or hopes. Ephesians 3:20 TLB
How's that for divine timing?
We got the next round of assumption papers for the house and filled them in and sent them on to the potential buyer....please keep that in prayer! The bank said it takes approximately 30 days after they receive this round of paperwork to make a determination.....so I'm working on being patient and not being anxious but in all things making my requests known to God....
July is going to be a crazy busy month....the usual summer craziness, but in addition to that, K sister is graduating (yeah, I know, wasn't she just 5 and sitting in the HA cafeteria while my mom made cookies yesterday????)
Uncle R and Aunt N are coming for a visit and we've got some short travel planned for various things. We're hoping to be able to take a short getaway for our anniversary in August.
Things are looking more homey at the new place and it really doesn't resemble a cardboard fort at all anymore - just a handful of boxes waiting for us to figure out which shelves and pictures are going where....then I get to work on a fun project....going through the digital camera and printing my favs and FINALLY putting the pics in the gorgeous collage frame we got from N Bro.
N bro & his wife are doing very well - baby girl should be here in August and momma is doing great. we have their shower in July too....
Well...that's about it for updates and good words....off to the grind for me
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Brain Hungry! Need Food!
Behold, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desertand streams in the wasteland.
Isaiah 43:19
Ooh...that one may take my brain all day to chew on....
Lately I've been in a funk, feeling down and feeling the weight of the many stressors around me crushing down and I've tried to fight it and tried to just "deal" and accept the stressors....then a wise person said to me "don't do that." Because as soon as I do that I am allowing that THING to be stress, and once that stress is removed, I allow the stress to capture something else. I need to not accept it. I need to pry my fingers off of it and look to God for peace. No, that doesn't mean that things will never get to me and that I won't feel pressure...it means that I won't let it surround me and take over my thoughts so that I'm lying awake every night mentally yelling at God for not letting me have "sweet peaceful sleep" like Psalms promises....
So...my mission...and I've chosen to accept it....is when those things hit me hard, oh and I bet the last doughnut and coffee they will, I need to look at it, praise God for the strength to get through and press on. Yesterday it manifested in the form of "God, help me to not let this steal my joy today" rather than crying in the ladies' room like I really wanted to.
Isaiah 43:19
Ooh...that one may take my brain all day to chew on....
Lately I've been in a funk, feeling down and feeling the weight of the many stressors around me crushing down and I've tried to fight it and tried to just "deal" and accept the stressors....then a wise person said to me "don't do that." Because as soon as I do that I am allowing that THING to be stress, and once that stress is removed, I allow the stress to capture something else. I need to not accept it. I need to pry my fingers off of it and look to God for peace. No, that doesn't mean that things will never get to me and that I won't feel pressure...it means that I won't let it surround me and take over my thoughts so that I'm lying awake every night mentally yelling at God for not letting me have "sweet peaceful sleep" like Psalms promises....
So...my mission...and I've chosen to accept it....is when those things hit me hard, oh and I bet the last doughnut and coffee they will, I need to look at it, praise God for the strength to get through and press on. Yesterday it manifested in the form of "God, help me to not let this steal my joy today" rather than crying in the ladies' room like I really wanted to.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Lessons from a calendar.
Embrace this God-life. Really embrace it, and nothing will be too much for you.... That's why I urge you to pray for absolutely everything, ranging from small to large. Include everything as you embrace this God-life, and you'll get God's everything - Mark 11:22-24, MSG
It really shouldn't surprise me that this was my verse today on my calendar - God's been speaking to me a lot lately about my prayer life and how I will certainly pray when I'm in the valley of the shadow...but then I stand up, wipe my eyes and pick all my trials back up and wander back to my worry-fest. Wow...yeah, a little vulnerable today. But it's true. I talk to God, and I tell him I know that he can do everything and can fix what's going on and then I try to help. How hilarious is that? That my pea-brain thinks the almighty needs my help. Goodness, I can barely speak in whole sentences before the first cup of coffee and I think that I can help God move the mountains in my life? What an arrogant concept. We live in a world where we are almost trained to be arrogant - and we call it being confident, we call it being proud of who we are - and those two things on their own aren't bad - it's when we allow ourselves to cross that line and feel as though we are entitled to amazing things without doing anything.
I once heard an illustration of faith - I was 10. I was at summer camp and we were talking about chairs. The pastor said that faith is sitting in the chair. I looked at him wondering how that could be. Then he fleshed it out. I can look at a chair and say "I believe this chair will hold me." But until I actually sit in that chair confident it will hold me, I have no faith that my statement is true. Until I actually pry my fingers off my trials, I will never actually have faith that God will overcome them.
So....he's trying to get the concept through my brain in many fashions these days. Isn't it wonderful how much he cares? I'm convinced he shakes his head at me at least twice a day. "silly little girl, don't you get it yet? I've got you. And I promised no one shall pluck you out of my hand."
Go listen to this song....heard it a while ago and thought of it again today.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
ooh...
Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.- Corrie Ten Boom
I really wish I had heard this quote before the stress of the weekend began because it is oh so true....
Well...we're moved. We're exhausted and sore, but we're moved. We spent a lot of the weekend trying to find the right places for things and trying to find things we needed....I asked Bug when he thought it would start to feel like home. He said give it a week....right now it feels like we're visiting somewhere...living out of boxes and suitcases....our bed would not go back together so our mattress and boxspring are on the floor - and in the midst of being ready to break from the stress tension and exhaustion it hit me...how much had I been praying about the move and everything? I'm ashamed to admit just a few words here and there. By the time Saturday night rolled around, I was so worn down that my stomach was chewing itself to pieces. So I laid down and it hit me. I needed to pray. So I started with the way I was feeling and thanking God for our new place and a successful move and went on to protecting our marriage and getting us through settling in and guiding each step...I ended up falling asleep praying in the spirit. And for the first time in I don't know how long, I had peaceful dreams instead of ones where I woke up going "how on EARTH did my subconscious come up with that one???????"
Here's where you may all say "um, duh Eye." Yes, I know where my help and peace and strength (hee hee, and daily food for those that were just waiting for it....) come from. Why is it so darn hard to get it from the brain know to the practice know?
So last night I started re-reading The Forgotten God by Francis Chan. Amazing author (also wrote Crazy Love).....time to start remembering what powers the system....and I don't mean coffee this time.
God is faithful. We found not only a bed in our price range, but the new mattress we've been needing for a while...on sale....God rocks.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sometimes it's good to remember the sad.
Trading My Sorrows ~ Darrell Evans
I'm trading my sorrow
I'm trading my shame
I'm laying it down for the joy of the Lord
I'm trading my sickness
I'm trading my pain
I'm laying it down for the joy of the Lord
And we say yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord
Yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord
Yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord Amen
I'm pressed but not crushed persecuted not abandoned
Struck down but not destroyed
I'm blessed beyond the curse for his promise will endure
And his joy's gonna be my strength
Though the sorrow may last for the night
His joy comes with the morning
About 8 years ago, a dear, dear friend received a message from God that I needed a book called Why God? for my birthday. This wonderful friend questioned God...that's an odd thing to give her for her birthday....but the friend was obedient. She bought the book. And she listened to God's leading and penned the song above into it. She had no idea that 6 days later my older brother would be killed in a senseless car accident.
Nor did she have any idea that 8 years later I would feel like I'm at the bottom of the hole and am so low I can't see the top...and she didn't know that I would remember the song, remember the book, remember her obedience to God, and remember that even though I feel like I'm stuck in the valley of the shadow this week....there's a way out, and that the tears will dry, and that God's still got me and even though I feel like I've had the tar beaten out of me and I don't understand why I am going through these trials.....the JOY comes with the morning.
Thank you so much, Ernie. I love you girlfriend.
Monday, May 03, 2010
anxious today.
so the house in cville is being shown today.....
I'm trying so hard to just be at peace and know that God's got this and this may or may not be his answer to the "please get us out from under this mortgage!" cry....
but I can't help but be excited that maybe this is it and maybe there'll be an offer and maybe it will be enough and we can be free.....
please pray!
I'm trying so hard to just be at peace and know that God's got this and this may or may not be his answer to the "please get us out from under this mortgage!" cry....
but I can't help but be excited that maybe this is it and maybe there'll be an offer and maybe it will be enough and we can be free.....
please pray!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
pensive today.
Missing my brother a lot lately.
It seems like there's triggers everywhere lately...some make me smile, others make me laugh....and then there's the ones that hurt so bad I have to check to make sure I'm not bleeding. Those are the exhausting ones.
Today I feel pensive, reflective and a little sad. I think about the things he's missing out on....he didn't see me get married...I know he would have been so happy for me and probably would have asked if my dress was big enough (there was a lot of poof to it once the train was bustled). He would have teased me about tripping down the aisle...but then he would have watched with a huge grin as I promised to love honor and cherish all the days of my life.
Yesterday I brought up you tube during my lunch and break....I played "Come Ye Sinners" several times.... We had a dear friend play some praise music during our wedding...that was one of the songs he played. The words to it are a balm to my soul on those days when everything hurts.....from missing my brother....to a hard day at work....to the trials that show up and smack us around....
I won't post the whole song...I really like Todd Agnew's version of it - but the chorus goes "I will arise and go to Jesus....and He will embrace me in his arms....and in the arms of my dear Savior, oh there are 10,000 charms..."
There's another line to the song that says "if you tarry until you're better, then you will never come at all...." That one got me yesterday. God is our great comforter....he supplies all of our needs....He's unfailing....but if I wait to go talk to him until I'm doing better...I'm never going to get there.... so...I'm going to arise and go to Jesus and be embraced by the love of his everlasting arms.
It seems like there's triggers everywhere lately...some make me smile, others make me laugh....and then there's the ones that hurt so bad I have to check to make sure I'm not bleeding. Those are the exhausting ones.
Today I feel pensive, reflective and a little sad. I think about the things he's missing out on....he didn't see me get married...I know he would have been so happy for me and probably would have asked if my dress was big enough (there was a lot of poof to it once the train was bustled). He would have teased me about tripping down the aisle...but then he would have watched with a huge grin as I promised to love honor and cherish all the days of my life.
Yesterday I brought up you tube during my lunch and break....I played "Come Ye Sinners" several times.... We had a dear friend play some praise music during our wedding...that was one of the songs he played. The words to it are a balm to my soul on those days when everything hurts.....from missing my brother....to a hard day at work....to the trials that show up and smack us around....
I won't post the whole song...I really like Todd Agnew's version of it - but the chorus goes "I will arise and go to Jesus....and He will embrace me in his arms....and in the arms of my dear Savior, oh there are 10,000 charms..."
There's another line to the song that says "if you tarry until you're better, then you will never come at all...." That one got me yesterday. God is our great comforter....he supplies all of our needs....He's unfailing....but if I wait to go talk to him until I'm doing better...I'm never going to get there.... so...I'm going to arise and go to Jesus and be embraced by the love of his everlasting arms.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Reflections
I remember watching a comedian....Jim Gafigan...terribly funny guy. Well, he was talking about Easter (many of his bits feature him doing both parts of the conversation)....and I won't get this exactly right, but here's the gist:
"Ok to celebrate Easter. We'll get a bunch of eggs.
but that doesn't make any sense
Ok. We'll hide them?
and this relates to the resurrection of Christ how?
It's ok - there's a bunny."
yeah, I laughed. But today it's got me thinking....how commercial things have gotten. I can remember when not a child around me didn't know that Easter was a celebration of Christ's Resurrection and everyone went to church and most girls got a new Easter dress and some little hats with matching purses and we'd go to church and hear for the millionth time the miracle and we'd sit in awe.
Today I look around and most kids haven't the foggiest idea what an Easter bonnet is or why on earth someone would want to go to church instead of diving into piles of candy....and while it is very well known that I am a huge proponent of eating much candy....the rest of it makes me sad. It's bad enough that the true meaning is lost....but it's also a crucial part of our heritage that's being skewed into a sugar coated commercialistic whatever you want to call it.
And that's my rant for the day.
We finally got our tax return and the laptop we've been talking about for two years and it's an adventure typing on it.....not only is it a "standard" keyboard (the one I have at work is ergonomic), I also have to get used to the heat sensitive mouse thingy that keeps moving my cursor when I get close to it....LOL
Hopefully this means that we'll find the cable to our camera and upload the pictures that have been sitting there since our honeymoon. Hrm. anyone interested in a slide show of a bunch of islands?
"Ok to celebrate Easter. We'll get a bunch of eggs.
but that doesn't make any sense
Ok. We'll hide them?
and this relates to the resurrection of Christ how?
It's ok - there's a bunny."
yeah, I laughed. But today it's got me thinking....how commercial things have gotten. I can remember when not a child around me didn't know that Easter was a celebration of Christ's Resurrection and everyone went to church and most girls got a new Easter dress and some little hats with matching purses and we'd go to church and hear for the millionth time the miracle and we'd sit in awe.
Today I look around and most kids haven't the foggiest idea what an Easter bonnet is or why on earth someone would want to go to church instead of diving into piles of candy....and while it is very well known that I am a huge proponent of eating much candy....the rest of it makes me sad. It's bad enough that the true meaning is lost....but it's also a crucial part of our heritage that's being skewed into a sugar coated commercialistic whatever you want to call it.
And that's my rant for the day.
We finally got our tax return and the laptop we've been talking about for two years and it's an adventure typing on it.....not only is it a "standard" keyboard (the one I have at work is ergonomic), I also have to get used to the heat sensitive mouse thingy that keeps moving my cursor when I get close to it....LOL
Hopefully this means that we'll find the cable to our camera and upload the pictures that have been sitting there since our honeymoon. Hrm. anyone interested in a slide show of a bunch of islands?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
hmm...
Isn't it amazing how trained we are? I'm not talking about trained in the sense of fitness....I'm talking about the way we convince ourselves that something we feel always has to mean one thing. This morning I woke up with a knot in my stomach. I of course translated it to mean I was anxious about something. So I drove myself crazy for a couple of hours trying to figure out what I had to be so anxious about...did I forget to do something? As my morning went on and I assured myself I had not, the knot felt a little different....and my stomach growled. Oh. I was hungry. I'm not usually hungry in the morning - and extremely rarely when I first get out of bed....so here, I added stress to my day convinced I knew exactly what was up by one fleeting thought. How often do we do that to ourselves every day? The fleeting thought of how good a hamburger tastes means "my body needs what's in that burger." Or...it could be that I just drove past a fast food restaurant and smelled burgers....
I've struggled with anxiety for years. It's something I find myself talking to God about quite a bit and then getting frustrated wondering why He hasn't taken it from me. This morning it hit me like a 2x4.
Because I won't let Him. I was looking for worry this morning - looking for something to be anxious about rather than looking to see what else I could be feeling that way for - wow. That was a hard realization. So I had to ask for forgiveness. And now I'm trying to remind myself that I should "Be anxious for nothing but in all things present my needs to God through prayer and supplication." and that "God has not given us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of love, a spirit of power and a SOUND mind."
That means that it's not in God's plan for me to stress and fret and to make this stomach thing worse. It's in His plan that I turn to Him and tell him what I'm thinking and cast my worries and woes on Him and then - and here's the big thing - not get up and take them all back with me. So easy to type. So hard to do. But with God's grace, I can do it - I just have to keep remembering to let go.
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