I was reading a book last week - one that had sat on and in and around my dresser for months (oh the perks of being the church librarian) with the bookmark stuck halfway through and me finding many other things to do (and read) rather than finishing that one book. But I finally trudged my way back to it, as an item on the checklist that just needed to be done (because oh how it hurts me to declare a book unfinished).
I wondered later if it hadn't been so delayed because the message I ran across, the token spiritual lesson in the cliche Christian Fiction genre, was so timely for one facing a New Year not knowing what will come.
As the main character faced a situation from which she saw little hope of escape, she was inspired to read of Jehoshaphat. As a king of Judah his story is found in 2 Chronicles. When Jehoshaphat and the people of Judah saw a great army, outnumbering them many times over, rising against them, they had little hope for escape - little hope, that is, apart from God - who is the greatest Hope there is. His response to them, "Do not be afraid nor dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but God’s. . . . You will not need to fight in this battle" (2 Chronicles 20:15-16).
For the main character of this particular book, there was great hope that in her weariness this battle was not hers to fight, but the Lord's. In the grand tradition of many a work of fiction, of course, the battle was won, and all worked out in the end.
But I do believe there is great truth here.
As we have firmly settled ourselves into this New Year, we still can't imagine what is to come. I looked over faces this past Christmas, in my church and my newsfeed, and my heart broke knowing that at that time last year, one woman did not know she would wake up in the middle of the night to a nightmare and her husband gone before she could say good-bye, another woman had not known her husband would kiss her good-bye on his way to work and never return home. A mother didn't know she would lay down for a nap and wake to find her baby taken in his sleep. These aren't the things people imagine would ever happen to them. And so often we don't know when it is the last Christmas or last day or last hour we will have with someone we love.
And then the New Year turns, and who imagines, at that great precipice of a whole shining New Year, possibly bidding farewell to a year that didn't look so great in our eyes, or simply hoping for more of the same, just a little improved, that only two weeks in those goals and plans we've set for ourselves are wiped away by a cancer diagnosis and a new battlefield of the unkown laid before them, of doctor's visits, treatments, hospital stays, bills. Who planned for that when they kissed their husband at midnight? I'm sure she didn't.
But these battles - even those which already seem lost or maybe just too hard to fight - belong to the Lord. And this year, this week, this day of unknowns, it all belongs to Him.
Let us have the minds of Jehoshaphat who humbly declared to the Lord, he and "all of Judah, with their little ones, their wives and their children" standing before the Lord (oh how it makes my heart happy to see them standing, even with their little ones - not one heart looking away), "For we have no power against this great multitude that is coming against us; nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are upon You" (2 Chronicles 20:12-13). How often do we feel that - powerless, not knowing what to do? Yet, let us keep our eyes upon Him.
There are many battles we will face, some of which He will ask us to fight and some of which, like Jehoshaphat, we will come upon and find they were already fought for us, but in either case, with our eyes upon Him, the Battle belongs to the Lord. His victory may not look as we imagined, but His glory will shine.
Le us face this day, what mountain or molehill may come, with our eyes upon Him.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
19 January 2015
09 August 2014
Of Changed Plans
I wake up earlier than I want on a Saturday morning (but that's nothing new, is it?). The plans for today aren't what I had looked forward to. I had anticipated a lazy day, where we had no plans, because sometimes no plan at all is just the plan you need to re-charge and reconnect as a family - particularly when the last time you had that no-plan, a mere week ago, Mommy spent the morning raging at kids who didn't deserve it, slamming cabinets until their frames fell apart, and finally leaving the mess for her husband to deal with, because something inside her just couldn't take it all - all of this thing called life.
Yet, on this same Saturday morning, another woman awakes - if she slept at all, because who can sleep when the warmth beside her is gone? When there were sounds through the night and your protector is missing - and won't ever return? She awakes, if she even caught those forty winks, through the night-sounds and the nightmares, to find she is still in the nightmare.
How had she planned, just a week ago, to spend this day? Was there a birthday party to attend? A gathering of friends, family? Was he finally going to get to that project she'd been bothering him to finish? Or just mow the yard so it could be clean cut for another week? Had she planned to snuggle in just a little longer next to that man of hers, pretending they couldn't hear the kids down the hall, for just a few minutes? Or do their boys toddle in to crawl into bed, asking where's Daddy? At work? No, not at work, because he never made it to work on Tuesday morning, when he slipped quietly out of the house in the early morning hours to go earn a paycheck and take care of his family.
I grieve for her. I grieve for the third time in less than a year and a half for a woman too young to be widowed. A woman now left alone with two little boys who don't understand why they can't wrestle with Daddy - one of whom may be too young to even remember his face a year from now. And then there's the one in her womb - the one they announced to the world only a few weeks ago - the one who will never meet this man called "Daddy."
And she'll have to do it all alone. Or at the very least without the one who is half of the life inside of her - who was all of her life on the outside. The ultrasounds, the first kicks, the first contractions, the first push, the first cry - all without him who helped her create this miracle (though, thankfully, she has Him Who is the creator of all miracles).
And I thought my life was too much?
So I awake on this Saturday morning, the same one where she will be saying final good-byes to a man with whom she had planned to spend her entire life, not realizing his would end at twenty-four, to serve her. A minuscule gesture of love to someone who is hurting more than I can imagine. In a world that is too much pain.
And it's not what I planned, but then, it's not what she planned, either.
Yet, on this same Saturday morning, another woman awakes - if she slept at all, because who can sleep when the warmth beside her is gone? When there were sounds through the night and your protector is missing - and won't ever return? She awakes, if she even caught those forty winks, through the night-sounds and the nightmares, to find she is still in the nightmare.
How had she planned, just a week ago, to spend this day? Was there a birthday party to attend? A gathering of friends, family? Was he finally going to get to that project she'd been bothering him to finish? Or just mow the yard so it could be clean cut for another week? Had she planned to snuggle in just a little longer next to that man of hers, pretending they couldn't hear the kids down the hall, for just a few minutes? Or do their boys toddle in to crawl into bed, asking where's Daddy? At work? No, not at work, because he never made it to work on Tuesday morning, when he slipped quietly out of the house in the early morning hours to go earn a paycheck and take care of his family.
I grieve for her. I grieve for the third time in less than a year and a half for a woman too young to be widowed. A woman now left alone with two little boys who don't understand why they can't wrestle with Daddy - one of whom may be too young to even remember his face a year from now. And then there's the one in her womb - the one they announced to the world only a few weeks ago - the one who will never meet this man called "Daddy."
And she'll have to do it all alone. Or at the very least without the one who is half of the life inside of her - who was all of her life on the outside. The ultrasounds, the first kicks, the first contractions, the first push, the first cry - all without him who helped her create this miracle (though, thankfully, she has Him Who is the creator of all miracles).
And I thought my life was too much?
So I awake on this Saturday morning, the same one where she will be saying final good-byes to a man with whom she had planned to spend her entire life, not realizing his would end at twenty-four, to serve her. A minuscule gesture of love to someone who is hurting more than I can imagine. In a world that is too much pain.
And it's not what I planned, but then, it's not what she planned, either.
11 November 2013
Of Our Non-Expendable Brood
As we await the long-coming arrival of Baby #4 to our growing flock, I recognize we have crossed a threshold - in fact, we crossed it back in 2011, when our youngest had just turned one, our oldest was still yet two and we learned our third was on the way, the point at which the question on everyone's lips subtly changes to, "So, are you planning to have more?" to "So, do you think you're done?"
And whether real or imagined, there is a definitive sense of judgment in our culture toward those populating the earth with more than the allotted 2.5 children. Sometimes I feel the weight of those questioning eyes, with my burgeoning belly and three little ones scurrying underfoot as we head to the library or the grocery store.
Yet, I watch my children playing, all seated together on the floor engrossed in a book or huddled into the plastic Fisher Price tree house out back, and as I melt in their large brown eyes I ask myself this question, "Which of these would I give up so as to have a socially acceptable amount of off-spring?"
Would it be the fiery strawberry blonde? Maybe it would have been nice to have waited just a little longer before starting our family - more time for my husband and I to have to ourselves as 'just us' before taking the deeper plunge from marriage into family. We could have traveled. We could have indulged in couple time and spare change. But then, where would our boys be without their big sister to lead the way? And who would impress me with the compassion she shows for others or her aptness for learning?
Or maybe it would be that middle one. Perhaps it would have been nice to have that longer gap - breathing room between Micaiah and Joey? But then, what would I do without my sweetly sensitive, yet rough and tumble little boy with that insatiable curiosity? And with whom would Micaiah have "camp-overs" in the living room or play hide-and-seek throughout the house? Joey isn't quite old enough for that, yet.
Well, then there's that, maybe we'd just give up that youngest one. He doesn't do much to contribute to the family, yet. Perhaps we could have enjoyed those first two a little longer if we'd spaced it out a tad. But, then, whose mischievous grin would break my stressful days? Or who would climb in my lap every time I sat on the floor to be with the other two? Who would stand next to me in the kitchen, waiting to help, as I prepare meals? Who would offer Emmett the joy of having a brother and future games of cowboys and Indians or catch in the yard?
Then again, maybe we should have just been done after three. That's a perfectly acceptable number. But then, what would I do, on those long days, without the refreshing kicks, tiny reminders of life inside and the purpose I hold? Where would be that hope of a baby sister for our eldest - something of which she has long dreamed?
Where would we be, as a family, if any one of us were missing - had never even existed? Perhaps we'd be just fine. But seeing where we are now, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know God has formed our family perfectly, and I have a strong sense he's not finished with us yet. Which is just fine - because he seems to have done a wonderful job of putting just the right tiny souls into our wonderful little mix at just the right times. Perhaps not every family is meant for this kind of blossoming - their perfect number may be smaller than ours - but I am so grateful for all we have been given, and all that is yet to come.
And whether real or imagined, there is a definitive sense of judgment in our culture toward those populating the earth with more than the allotted 2.5 children. Sometimes I feel the weight of those questioning eyes, with my burgeoning belly and three little ones scurrying underfoot as we head to the library or the grocery store.
Yet, I watch my children playing, all seated together on the floor engrossed in a book or huddled into the plastic Fisher Price tree house out back, and as I melt in their large brown eyes I ask myself this question, "Which of these would I give up so as to have a socially acceptable amount of off-spring?"
Then again, maybe we should have just been done after three. That's a perfectly acceptable number. But then, what would I do, on those long days, without the refreshing kicks, tiny reminders of life inside and the purpose I hold? Where would be that hope of a baby sister for our eldest - something of which she has long dreamed?
Where would we be, as a family, if any one of us were missing - had never even existed? Perhaps we'd be just fine. But seeing where we are now, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know God has formed our family perfectly, and I have a strong sense he's not finished with us yet. Which is just fine - because he seems to have done a wonderful job of putting just the right tiny souls into our wonderful little mix at just the right times. Perhaps not every family is meant for this kind of blossoming - their perfect number may be smaller than ours - but I am so grateful for all we have been given, and all that is yet to come.
05 May 2013
Of the Glory Hole
A few weeks ago, I attended a retreat for the Baptist ladies of Oklahoma. It was a powerful time for many, including myself.
During our time there, they showed a video (which I had seen previously, thanks to a wonderful friend who had already shared on her blog how God had touched her through the same message - He sure does make beautiful things, regardless of the distance). The video likens the process of blowing glass, particularly the molding of previously broken pieces into a beautiful work of art, redeemed elegance they call it, to our lives in Christ - as pieces broken through the process of life, molded together into something more precious than we could have imagined.
As the artist described the process, he emphasized the name for the heating chamber into which the work-in-progress is placed - the Glory hole. And he says this, "You put a piece of glass inside that glory hole, I promise you this: it's going to change."
We never step away from His Glory unchanged.
What none of us knew as we watched that video in the auditorium on Saturday, speaking of the changing power of this extreme heat, was that before the week was over, we would all be put through the fire.
One week later, after tragedy coursed through our veins, spilled our tears, I found myself physically in a glass-blowing shop, remembering those words and realizing just how differently I was feeling them now.
And as I watched, these artisans took a firm, brittle, immutable stick of solid glass and put it into that Glory hole for one purpose. It wasn't to punish the glass, it was so they could transform it into something new, something use-able. What was once simple and straight and ordinary was shaped by their careful hands, arced into something of beauty and, still burning with the heat of the fire, was attached as the handle to a pitcher. The purpose-less became purposeful. The ordinary became indispensable. And in joining together through the heat, the pitcher and the handle became one - a beautiful, yet functional, piece of art.
What God spoke to me in that moment was this - we must go through the fire if He is going to change us for His purpose.
Where we are unbending, the fires of life make us moldable, they allow Him to shape us. Some of these fires are stoked by God Himself, others are brought on by the darkness of our fallen world, but God can always use the heat to form us, if we allow Him.
If we are to be used by Him, we must be molded by Him.
It is our choice - will we permit the fires of this life to melt us into an inglorious heap, or will we place ourselves into the hands of the master Craftsman, the only One Who can make us into something beautiful - His redeemed elegance?
During our time there, they showed a video (which I had seen previously, thanks to a wonderful friend who had already shared on her blog how God had touched her through the same message - He sure does make beautiful things, regardless of the distance). The video likens the process of blowing glass, particularly the molding of previously broken pieces into a beautiful work of art, redeemed elegance they call it, to our lives in Christ - as pieces broken through the process of life, molded together into something more precious than we could have imagined.
As the artist described the process, he emphasized the name for the heating chamber into which the work-in-progress is placed - the Glory hole. And he says this, "You put a piece of glass inside that glory hole, I promise you this: it's going to change."
We never step away from His Glory unchanged.
What none of us knew as we watched that video in the auditorium on Saturday, speaking of the changing power of this extreme heat, was that before the week was over, we would all be put through the fire.
One week later, after tragedy coursed through our veins, spilled our tears, I found myself physically in a glass-blowing shop, remembering those words and realizing just how differently I was feeling them now.
And as I watched, these artisans took a firm, brittle, immutable stick of solid glass and put it into that Glory hole for one purpose. It wasn't to punish the glass, it was so they could transform it into something new, something use-able. What was once simple and straight and ordinary was shaped by their careful hands, arced into something of beauty and, still burning with the heat of the fire, was attached as the handle to a pitcher. The purpose-less became purposeful. The ordinary became indispensable. And in joining together through the heat, the pitcher and the handle became one - a beautiful, yet functional, piece of art.
What God spoke to me in that moment was this - we must go through the fire if He is going to change us for His purpose.
Where we are unbending, the fires of life make us moldable, they allow Him to shape us. Some of these fires are stoked by God Himself, others are brought on by the darkness of our fallen world, but God can always use the heat to form us, if we allow Him.
If we are to be used by Him, we must be molded by Him.
It is our choice - will we permit the fires of this life to melt us into an inglorious heap, or will we place ourselves into the hands of the master Craftsman, the only One Who can make us into something beautiful - His redeemed elegance?
20 April 2013
Of My Plans
"In just the past two weeks, my view of what our future looks like has shifted completely. God is messing with my life!"
These are the words I spoke to my husband just a half hour ago. And it's so true and so beautiful all at the same time. I teased He was messing with it, when really what I'm seeing is a complete mess taking shape into something so potentially beautiful - potentially difficult, crazy and/or painful, yes, but the beauty in every work of God's hands is undeniable.
This weekend, as I learned of the process of glass-blowing and it's spiritual applications, I stepped back for a moment to realize all of what our eyes perceive as truly beautiful is born of difficulty. A rainbow arcs after the rain. An Oklahoma sunset is most gorgeous when blazed across the cloudy remnants of a stormy day. A diamond is birthed from pressure, pearls from irritation. Glass and precious metals must endure the shaping and refining of intense flame.
The truest beauty comes after the truest difficulties of life.
Avoiding these trials will a) cause me to miss the exquisite nature of a life lived for Him while b) not guaranteeing safety. Because safety is never guaranteed, anywhere.
So, no guts no glory, right? Is it not better to take the risk of following the Leader, when I know Who the leader is, seeking His glory, than to live my days to their bitter end on the sidelines - playing it safe and wondering why I'm still suffering the turmoil of a hollow life?
This is the place I find myself. Messed up, "planning" a life that is not what I would have planned. And I couldn't be more excited.
13 December 2012
Of Something More
With my husband gone for the evening, I find myself preparing to drown my loneliness in ice cream and chick flicks. Bringing my new favorite Blue Bell variety in from the deep freeze, I find myself wondering. Is this it?
Not, "Is this all the ice cream?" But, "Is this all of life?"
Looking forward to a bowl of sugar and milk and an evening on my couch. Is this all there is?
It's the same question I asked earlier this evening, as I changed another cloth diaper, putting another insert into the diaper pail, waiting to be washed and re-folded and re-filled and re-dumped into the pail. Is this endless parade of the same task all there is?
It's the same question I ask myself as I scurry through another December, determined not to be lost in the materialism, determining to let it all go and feeling as though it won't let go of me. So I find myself, only twelve days left, worried I won't have the packages in the mail on time - the packages I bought long before this ridiculous deadline. Is this breaking the same resolution year after year all there is?
It's the same question I asked myself a few weeks ago as I realized we're here. The American dream. We've achieved it. If the dream is a warm place to live, food in my belly and a family (pets included), with a little money to spare to satisfy our (smallish) whims - we're here. But is this really all there is?
And I find myself coming to the same answer: If I'm bored with life I must be doing something wrong.
It's like I have finally achieved all I meant to and now I keep waiting for something to happen and I don't even know what it is. I feel like Rose of Titanic fame, envisioning my entire life before me, an endless stream of the same. Glorifying God through it all, yes. Loving the little moments, the thousands of gifts, yes. But still feeling, truly knowing, that there is more to this.
And because I still haven't allowed myself to fully seek His path and let go of my own self-imposed to-do list, self-imposed expectations I imagine others have (or maybe don't even imagine, but the importance of their opinion is definitely sheer fantasy) and fully run after what I know He has laid before me, I remain listless unsatisfied, ready to just be home. Done with here and ready for there.
But I am still here. I still have a family I love, I still have friends who encourage, I still have the resources I need to do what He has asked - so maybe I should do something about this.
Maybe it's time to do something right.
1,000 Gifts:
1058. A warm December afternoon, shucking the coats and heading outside
1059. Tiny hands grasping orange fur
1060. The baby boy in my lap, giggling and nuzzling, in the warmth of the sun
1061. One bright spot of light on the wall, a ray breaking through the closed blinds
1062. This hope, a knowing, of something more.
Not, "Is this all the ice cream?" But, "Is this all of life?"
Looking forward to a bowl of sugar and milk and an evening on my couch. Is this all there is?
It's the same question I asked earlier this evening, as I changed another cloth diaper, putting another insert into the diaper pail, waiting to be washed and re-folded and re-filled and re-dumped into the pail. Is this endless parade of the same task all there is?
It's the same question I ask myself as I scurry through another December, determined not to be lost in the materialism, determining to let it all go and feeling as though it won't let go of me. So I find myself, only twelve days left, worried I won't have the packages in the mail on time - the packages I bought long before this ridiculous deadline. Is this breaking the same resolution year after year all there is?
It's the same question I asked myself a few weeks ago as I realized we're here. The American dream. We've achieved it. If the dream is a warm place to live, food in my belly and a family (pets included), with a little money to spare to satisfy our (smallish) whims - we're here. But is this really all there is?
And I find myself coming to the same answer: If I'm bored with life I must be doing something wrong.
It's like I have finally achieved all I meant to and now I keep waiting for something to happen and I don't even know what it is. I feel like Rose of Titanic fame, envisioning my entire life before me, an endless stream of the same. Glorifying God through it all, yes. Loving the little moments, the thousands of gifts, yes. But still feeling, truly knowing, that there is more to this.
And because I still haven't allowed myself to fully seek His path and let go of my own self-imposed to-do list, self-imposed expectations I imagine others have (or maybe don't even imagine, but the importance of their opinion is definitely sheer fantasy) and fully run after what I know He has laid before me, I remain listless unsatisfied, ready to just be home. Done with here and ready for there.
But I am still here. I still have a family I love, I still have friends who encourage, I still have the resources I need to do what He has asked - so maybe I should do something about this.
Maybe it's time to do something right.
1,000 Gifts:
1058. A warm December afternoon, shucking the coats and heading outside
1059. Tiny hands grasping orange fur
1060. The baby boy in my lap, giggling and nuzzling, in the warmth of the sun
1061. One bright spot of light on the wall, a ray breaking through the closed blinds
1062. This hope, a knowing, of something more.
25 September 2011
Of Struggling
I have been putting off writing this post for some time now because I recognize there are many out there (both those non-Christian and also many Christians, including those I know and respect) who may not agree with me. And as previously discussed, rocking the boat scares me. But as this blog serves as a journal-of-sorts for me, I feel it important to share a recent struggle I had with God.
About a month or two ago, I stood in church, attempting to offer worship through song - a particularly favorite method of mine - but finding myself unable to truly connect with the words. If I was entirely honest with myself, I had felt this way for a number of weeks. It was as though I no longer believed the words and my faith was slipping overall. And I did not know why.
Longing to find the source for these feelings, I thought perhaps I could trace them back to when I first began in my unbelief. I initially thought I would never be able to pinpoint an exact moment, but almost instantaneously, it popped into my head: the moment I found out I was pregnant.
And then I got scared. How could I admit this to anyone without sounding like a horrible mother? One was supposed to rejoice in pregnancy, especially considering I never wanted to stop with just two children - so a third should not have been so faith-shattering. And, yet, for weeks I had been hiding behind a facade. I wanted this child, definitely, but just not so soon after the previous one. Having a positive pregnancy test the day after Emmett's first birthday would not be how I would have planned it.
This is where my faith comes in. And herein lies the controversy.
When Micaiah was only three months old, we acted on something I had been feeling for a long time. We stepped out of the realm of birth control and into the idea of completely trusting God to open and close my womb according to His will. It was a little scary, to be honest, but my argument for birth control was always, "If God really wants us to have a baby, He can do it - birth control or not. So, we're not really trying to stop Him." And I realized, if that was how I truly felt, why was I taking a pill every day? To give ourselves a warm fuzzy feeling of control? Because control is definitely my idol.
Thus, we gave it up. We gave up the control we tried so desperately to cling to and we handed over the responsibility of planning our family to the One we knew could truly be trusted to do it right.
I know this is not always a popular topic and I do not wish to open a can of worms. I do not look down on others who have not made the same decision, because I truly do feel as though it is a personal conviction. Like I said, control is kind of an issue of mine, so I really felt God was calling me to give it up. But it may not be your issue and it may not be your calling. That's not between me and you, that's between us and God. It is truly my desire that none read this blog as my saying I know the one right way of planning families - because that would just not be true.
But as I said, this is the path we have chosen. And I truly trusted that God would honor that. What I did not realize was that my belief that "God would honor our decision" was my telling myself that He would continue to give us children on our preferred timetable. I did not (and do not) want 18 children (or even close). I did not (and do not) want to be pregnant for the rest of my child-bearing years. And I told myself that God knows that and, thus, He would follow my plans - as a reward for trusting Him.
Funny how that's not how He works.
Thus, that positive pregnancy test scared me. Not because I did not (or do not) want this particular baby, but because of what I felt it represented for our future. This baby was coming earlier than I wanted. And if this pattern were to continue, we'd have a dozen kids before we knew it. What was going on? What was God doing? I had trusted Him. And now I was not so sure that was the wise thing to do. Could He really be trusted?
And this was where everything I thought I knew about God began to crumble.
I feared what others would think - that we were being irresponsible or just plain stupid. And it's true - the first question we received from almost everyone was, "Was this planned?" Because it is a common belief in our culture that planning our families is what the responsible adult does. Were we being irresponsible?
So there I was that Sunday morning a month into my knowledge that a baby was on its way, ready or not, crushed by the reality that I no longer trusted God, because it felt like He had failed me. I was scared of Him and did not know if His plan was truly what I wanted.
And, yes, it's scary to be that honest with so many people (though I can probably rest assured that this post is too lengthy for the average reader and no one will have made it this far - whew! ;) ).
The amazing thing, though, is that like so many recovery programs tout, the first step to overcoming a problem is recognizing you have one. And this was the place I found myself that Sunday morning - acknowledging my problem. And simply being able to name my fear and proclaim it back, in full honesty, to God was a breath of relief in itself.
Over the next days and weeks, as I talked to my husband and read through Scripture, I began to fully understand what I had always been taught. God's ways are not our ways. Though this timeline is not what I would have planned, I know we will be blessed through this child and whatever else God chooses to give us along this path called life. Giving control to God did not mean I should expect Him to work as I demanded - that was counter-intuitive. Though I had physically given Him control, I had not done so mentally or emotionally.
And, yet, what has my control of my life ever produced other than bitterness, anger, rivalry, jealousy and, well, everything falling apart? And what has a history of following God's leading produced? Joy in unexpected outcomes, peace, friendship and love.
Why would I ever trust myself over Him?
Thus, here I am - still struggling occasionally, but definitely on the road to mending.
And this is what I know:
God is faithful. God is forever. His love never fails. And I am grateful.
About a month or two ago, I stood in church, attempting to offer worship through song - a particularly favorite method of mine - but finding myself unable to truly connect with the words. If I was entirely honest with myself, I had felt this way for a number of weeks. It was as though I no longer believed the words and my faith was slipping overall. And I did not know why.
Longing to find the source for these feelings, I thought perhaps I could trace them back to when I first began in my unbelief. I initially thought I would never be able to pinpoint an exact moment, but almost instantaneously, it popped into my head: the moment I found out I was pregnant.
And then I got scared. How could I admit this to anyone without sounding like a horrible mother? One was supposed to rejoice in pregnancy, especially considering I never wanted to stop with just two children - so a third should not have been so faith-shattering. And, yet, for weeks I had been hiding behind a facade. I wanted this child, definitely, but just not so soon after the previous one. Having a positive pregnancy test the day after Emmett's first birthday would not be how I would have planned it.
This is where my faith comes in. And herein lies the controversy.
When Micaiah was only three months old, we acted on something I had been feeling for a long time. We stepped out of the realm of birth control and into the idea of completely trusting God to open and close my womb according to His will. It was a little scary, to be honest, but my argument for birth control was always, "If God really wants us to have a baby, He can do it - birth control or not. So, we're not really trying to stop Him." And I realized, if that was how I truly felt, why was I taking a pill every day? To give ourselves a warm fuzzy feeling of control? Because control is definitely my idol.
Thus, we gave it up. We gave up the control we tried so desperately to cling to and we handed over the responsibility of planning our family to the One we knew could truly be trusted to do it right.
I know this is not always a popular topic and I do not wish to open a can of worms. I do not look down on others who have not made the same decision, because I truly do feel as though it is a personal conviction. Like I said, control is kind of an issue of mine, so I really felt God was calling me to give it up. But it may not be your issue and it may not be your calling. That's not between me and you, that's between us and God. It is truly my desire that none read this blog as my saying I know the one right way of planning families - because that would just not be true.
But as I said, this is the path we have chosen. And I truly trusted that God would honor that. What I did not realize was that my belief that "God would honor our decision" was my telling myself that He would continue to give us children on our preferred timetable. I did not (and do not) want 18 children (or even close). I did not (and do not) want to be pregnant for the rest of my child-bearing years. And I told myself that God knows that and, thus, He would follow my plans - as a reward for trusting Him.
Funny how that's not how He works.
Thus, that positive pregnancy test scared me. Not because I did not (or do not) want this particular baby, but because of what I felt it represented for our future. This baby was coming earlier than I wanted. And if this pattern were to continue, we'd have a dozen kids before we knew it. What was going on? What was God doing? I had trusted Him. And now I was not so sure that was the wise thing to do. Could He really be trusted?
And this was where everything I thought I knew about God began to crumble.
I feared what others would think - that we were being irresponsible or just plain stupid. And it's true - the first question we received from almost everyone was, "Was this planned?" Because it is a common belief in our culture that planning our families is what the responsible adult does. Were we being irresponsible?
So there I was that Sunday morning a month into my knowledge that a baby was on its way, ready or not, crushed by the reality that I no longer trusted God, because it felt like He had failed me. I was scared of Him and did not know if His plan was truly what I wanted.
And, yes, it's scary to be that honest with so many people (though I can probably rest assured that this post is too lengthy for the average reader and no one will have made it this far - whew! ;) ).
The amazing thing, though, is that like so many recovery programs tout, the first step to overcoming a problem is recognizing you have one. And this was the place I found myself that Sunday morning - acknowledging my problem. And simply being able to name my fear and proclaim it back, in full honesty, to God was a breath of relief in itself.
Over the next days and weeks, as I talked to my husband and read through Scripture, I began to fully understand what I had always been taught. God's ways are not our ways. Though this timeline is not what I would have planned, I know we will be blessed through this child and whatever else God chooses to give us along this path called life. Giving control to God did not mean I should expect Him to work as I demanded - that was counter-intuitive. Though I had physically given Him control, I had not done so mentally or emotionally.
And, yet, what has my control of my life ever produced other than bitterness, anger, rivalry, jealousy and, well, everything falling apart? And what has a history of following God's leading produced? Joy in unexpected outcomes, peace, friendship and love.
Why would I ever trust myself over Him?
Thus, here I am - still struggling occasionally, but definitely on the road to mending.
And this is what I know:
God is faithful. God is forever. His love never fails. And I am grateful.
02 August 2011
Of Emergency
Our city is currently in a "State of Emergency." Due to many water main breaks throughout the town, all of the four water towers have now been emptied and many homes are without water. Those of us who still have this precious commodity flowing through our faucets are asked to boil it before use and, for that matter, use as little as humanly possible. I'm not going to lie, when I first received the automated phone call with all of the above information, my eyes starting tearing up of their own free will (yes, my tear ducts are a separate entity altogether).
Much as with the sound of a tornado siren (though to a much lesser degree), those three little words - "State of Emergency" - push a panic button found somewhere deep inside and I feel as though the world as we know it is going to crumble at our feet. Of course, the logical part of my brain explains this is not true, which is why the misting of my eyes lasted but a mere few seconds before I simply pulled out our two largest pots, filled them with water and set the burners to "Hi" so we would be prepared when the children needed something to fill their sippie cups.
Regardless of all that is occurring, I know one primary truth: God is in control. And I am grateful for the fact that we at least have the option of heating liquid which has come from our own sinks rather than having to dash to the nearest store still in possession of the bottled variety. Yes, there is much to be thankful for and much still needing prayer, such as those working around the clock to fix this mess and get us back on track. To the best of my knowledge there will be no looting or riots in the street.
Life goes on.
UPDATE: Mere minutes after posting, my husband turned on our faucet and noted it seemed to be going at full pressure, as opposed to the weak job it had been performing for the past 36 hours. Apparently they have taken care of the major breaks and are focusing on the minors while the water towers refill. What'd I tell you? Life goes on ;)
Much as with the sound of a tornado siren (though to a much lesser degree), those three little words - "State of Emergency" - push a panic button found somewhere deep inside and I feel as though the world as we know it is going to crumble at our feet. Of course, the logical part of my brain explains this is not true, which is why the misting of my eyes lasted but a mere few seconds before I simply pulled out our two largest pots, filled them with water and set the burners to "Hi" so we would be prepared when the children needed something to fill their sippie cups.
Regardless of all that is occurring, I know one primary truth: God is in control. And I am grateful for the fact that we at least have the option of heating liquid which has come from our own sinks rather than having to dash to the nearest store still in possession of the bottled variety. Yes, there is much to be thankful for and much still needing prayer, such as those working around the clock to fix this mess and get us back on track. To the best of my knowledge there will be no looting or riots in the street.
Life goes on.
UPDATE: Mere minutes after posting, my husband turned on our faucet and noted it seemed to be going at full pressure, as opposed to the weak job it had been performing for the past 36 hours. Apparently they have taken care of the major breaks and are focusing on the minors while the water towers refill. What'd I tell you? Life goes on ;)
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